Harry Potter and the Secret of the Patronus
by Appliciousness
Summary: Harry wants to use the power of science to invent magical space travel, while Hermione is a celebrity Auror-in-training who wants to fight injustice. However, the two of them, in spite of their intelligence, can't seem to figure out how romance works. Based on characters from HPMOR.
1. Wizards on a Train

Harry Potter and the Secret of the Patronus

"Are you…absolutely sure?" asked Hermione, her voice wavering.

They stood alone in the Headmaster's office, the most secure room in Hogwarts, with the fading light of evening settling over them.

Harry nodded, the strain tightening in his features. "Yes. I want it to be you who does it."

Hermione swallowed. She knew how hard this was for him. But it had been made painfully clear to both of them that there was no other way.

She squared her shoulders, steeling her nerves. She pressed her wand to his head, making a circular motion. " _Obliviate._ "

* * *

Harry Potter waited on the platform between 9 and 10, bouncing anxiously on the balls of his feet. He held a wrapped gift in his hands. He'd had to rush to prepare it, but it was something he'd thought she would like. At least, he really hoped so. It had been so long since he'd seen her that he wasn't sure.

Three years had passed since the Dark Lord's return. On that night in June 1992, Voldemort killed thirty-six death eaters, their deaths used in dark rituals. Professor Quirrell, Harry's mentor and friend, fought valiantly against the Dark Lord but was defeated. Then, just as Voldemort was about to rise to power, he was destroyed by Hermione, who had come back from the dead just in time to defeat him.

At least, that was the story everyone remembered.

If Harry had heard that account in his first year, he would have assumed it was fabricated by the _Quibbler_. It was too ridiculous to be true. And yet, people believed it, perhaps because it wasn't the first time the Dark Lord had been destroyed by a child. However, instead of a baby left with only a scar, the Girl-Who-Revived came back to life with superpowers. Specifically, the regeneration and strength of a troll, and the speed and purity of a unicorn. She even had alicorn fingernails.

Harry _really_ wished he could remember how that happened.

Harry glanced down at his present, covered in slightly wrinkled wrapping paper. He couldn't understand why he was so nervous. He knew that gifts were often accepted and forgotten, hidden in the corner of a room somewhere. In spite of the collected data from their letters, he couldn't predict if Hermione would like it, since a lot had changed in three years. She was a 5th year now, as well as an Auror-in-training, and a world of experiences separated her from the girl he'd known in 1st year.

Still, if she didn't at least smile at his gift, he would have to check and make sure she wasn't Polyjuiced.

"You'll break the platform if you keep bouncing like that, Harry," teased his dad, wrapping an arm around his mother's waist. "It won't bring her here any faster, either."

His mother smiled knowingly. "Come now, he needs to release his nerves somehow. He's waiting for the _love of his life_."

Harry cringed, but the annoyance and indignation he'd felt the first hundred times they'd done that had faded to grim acceptance. They simply couldn't understand that he could be friends with Hermione and not want to jump her bones. Even Hermione's parents, who didn't really like him all that much, had pressured Harry to start saving for the wedding. Every time he got an owl from Hermione at breakfast, without fail someone would ask how things were going with his "girlfriend," and then snicker at how clever their joke was.

Ignoring them was easier. Harry didn't have time for petty arguments. Or a girlfriend, for that matter. He had bigger problems.

On the summer after his 1st year in Hogwarts, Harry Potter received a letter. It congratulated him for solving the problem of mortality and defeating death. And then it explained why Harry had chosen to delete the knowledge from his brain. For example:

1) The world isn't big enough for everyone to be young and immortal forever. Even after exhausting every esoteric and obscure form of magic known to Wizardry, there's simply not enough food and not enough space (Harry's brain always added "yet.")

2) Blood purists will steal your secret and start a class war (Harry was iffy on that one, it seemed more paranoid than logical).

3) You are not allowed to have the secret that undoes the social fabric of the world until you have the means to remake it. And that's significantly harder than the food and space problem (Harry had decided his future self was a pessimist).

4) You are absolutely not allowed to have deadly secrets that will get you and your friends murdered until you have the means to protect them (Okay, fair point).

The part of Harry that wanted to be suspicious had known that this was exactly the sort of thing he would have done, if it were all true. He wouldn't have told himself all the reasons, just the ones that were safe to write down, and if he really _did_ fail at implementing immortality on multiple points, then that was enough cause to show restraint the second time around.

There had been other clues presented, enough to persuade Harry that he was 99% sure this wasn't a joke. And then he had talked to Hermione, and she had her own note, along with one more piece of information.

Harry reasoned, even before talking to Hermione, that he had left the secret to immortality in a living vessel, something like Slytherin's monster. Hermione's letter confirmed that, and then said that his secret would be revealed once he reached the stars. Harry had only taken a few minutes to figure out what new problem he needed to solve.

Someone was forcefully rubbing his hair, and he jerked forward. "Mum, stop!"

"Well, why didn't you get it cut like I said two days ago? You look like a shaggy dog."

"It looks fine, Mum," Harry said, smoothing his hair back in place. Harry was pretty sure he was on the mad scientist route, and if history served, they didn't care about their hair.

"When I was a boy, we would fluff ours up a bit more in front." His father raised his eyebrows. "What concerns me more is that you never went to the optometrist."

Harry was sure he could find a magical way to fix his prescription without wasting money. If not, what was the point of magic?

Suddenly, there was a train whistle, and Harry glanced around, searching the crowd.

"Harry!"

His eyes zoomed in on a girl wearing a blue Beauxbatons uniform, walking towards him like she had her own personal cloud. She was smiling and waving, a magic chest crawling behind her.

Harry realized at that moment that he hadn't really believed she was coming back to Hogwarts for a year. An owl should have come in, telling him Madam Bones had changed her mind about letting her travel with the exchange students. It couldn't really be true that Hogwarts was the last stop on her way to becoming an Auror, or that their little tournament could be important enough to require her presence.

Harry couldn't stand still. She was so close, so why was he still standing there? It had been over a year since he'd last seen her, but he had to resist the urge to run to her, because then he would never hear the end of it from his parents.

So he waited the half a minute it took for her to cross the platform with all her luggage while her parents struggled with lifting their suitcases over the curb. He didn't understand why they wouldn't just let her charm them, but whatever. When she was finally there, standing in front of him with the slight shimmer of an angel, he calmly walked to her and gave her a hug. "Hi Hermione," he said, his voice breaking a little.

She squeezed him tightly. "Harry." Her voice was full of emotion. "I've missed you."

When he pulled back a few moments later, he realized something was different.

"Oh my," said Petunia. "Your daughter has grown up quite well."

"Yes," said Hermione's mother, smiling gently. "I don't know where she gets it from, but I'm sure she'll pass even George's height someday."

And Harry looked _up_ at Hermione to see her rolling her eyes, though good-naturedly, like she was used to this by now.

"Not to mention, she's as beautiful as her mother," said Mr. Granger. "Why, just last week she was voted by Witch Weekly as the most eligible witch of Beauxbatons. Top marks in all her subjects too, even the extracurriculars."

"Harry's been doing well in Hogwarts too," said his mother, patting his shoulder a little too rapidly. "Tell them, Harry."

The one time he'd tried to broach the topic of his research with his father, he'd looked at him flatly over the rim of his glasses and said, "I'll tell you what I tell all my grad students. I suggest you learn to crawl before you run."

And his mother would faint if he mentioned the other stuff.

"Studying," said Harry.

There was a moment of awkward silence where Harry realized he and Hermione were being watched. He was supposed to make with the normal human interaction already, but it wasn't normal if you knew both sets of parents were dissecting what you said.

Harry cleared his throat, glancing up again at his tall friend with her bushy hair tamed into a braid, and realized he wasn't sure what to say.

His mother was shoving his shoulder. "Give her the present, Harry."

Harry blinked. He'd almost forgotten. "Here," he said, passing it over.

"Thank you," replied Hermione, examining the very book-like shape of it. "Well, I wonder what this could be." There was a curious look in her eyes, eager anticipation of her new study material.

And just like that, Harry knew that she was the same Hermione as ever.

Suddenly, they were bumped into by a traveling caravan of redheads, all of them rushing.

"Fred, I swear, if it weren't for your meddling hats..."

It was common knowledge that if you were later than the Weasleys, then you were LATE and had better get a move on.

"Well, I guess we'd better..." said Harry.

"Mum, Dad, I think it's time to go," said Hermione.

The two students hugged their parents, Hermione's mum and dad holding her a little bit longer, looking a bit more worried when they let her go. Then Hermione and Harry went through the entrance and appeared again at platform 9 and ¾.

Once they were on the other side, Hermione let out a sigh.

"Sorry about my parents," she said. "They don't have many people to brag to about me, so they always go a little overboard when they do."

"Actually, I would say they held back on a few things. Like how you're advancing in your Auror studies faster than any on record, and how you invented a hex that holds back Dementors."

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "You've read the Daily Prophet article, I see. Keeping tabs on me?"

"Of course," said Harry. They didn't have much time, but Harry couldn't pass this up. He headed toward the stalls. "Although, I prefer to get my news from other sources."

He strolled over to the newspaper stand and bought a copy of the _Quibbler_. Hermione groaned, her hands covering her eyes.

Harry grinned. "Let's see what Hogwarts' preeminent seer has to say." He read the headline:

 **Hermione Granger Crashes Dementor Wedding**

"You know," said Harry, between snickers. "Some part of me really hopes this is true. It would finally explain where the Dementors come from. Though it wouldn't explain the lack of baby dementors." Harry kept reading. "And it looks like you also got drunk and fended off the romantic advances of house elves."

"That's _not_ how it happened..." Hermione muttered.

Harry's eyebrows rose almost to his hairline. "Oh really? Then please, explain _exactly_ how this actually occurred. And don't leave out any details."

Hermione stuttered, her face bright red. "He wasn't a house elf, he was a 4 year old boy, and he gave me a hand drawn Valentine, and it was cute! I swear, why Luna Lovegood always likes to pair me off with House Elves or Boggarts or whatever, I'll never understand."

Professor Quirrell's voice murmured in Harry's mind. _Humans would rather tear down their heroes, so they can feel good about the fact that they are living mediocre, boring lives._

Harry swallowed and dismissed the thought, putting the _Quibbler_ in his moleskin pouch. "Well, at least no one except a complete idiot would believe those things," said Harry, smiling at Hermione. "And fortunately, most people at Hogwarts aren't _complete_ idiots. So you should be safe there, at least."

"Oh, you'd be surprised," sighed Hermione.

Harry shrugged. "If it makes you feel better, the _Quibbler_ still prints exclusives about who they suspect might be the Boy-Who-Lived's son. Apparently, Draco and I are in a rocky patch right now, and are considering divorce after our secret three way marriage with a muggle, who bears the burden of raising our son so we can brood over each other."

Hermione chuckled, and Harry thought it was nice, since her laugh wasn't something you could print in a letter.

"That gets points for inventiveness, at least." Hermione glanced down at the present. "I suppose I should open this now."

The Hogwarts train whistled, and both of them looked up. "How about we do that on the train?" suggested Harry.

* * *

Hermione Granger sat in the train car, watching Harry laugh himself into a puddle while clutching Hermione's present.

"Listen to this one: Heisenberg, Schrodinger, and Ohm are driving together in a car..."

Hermione smiled and shook her head. She wasn't disappointed with her gift of 1001 Science Jokes, but she had pointed out that this was a Harry present, not a Hermione one. He'd objected and said he'd definitely had her in mind when he bought it. She'd read a few jokes, but he'd claimed, "You're not reading them right, here watch."

Harry Potter had gone on to prove her point by laughing so hard he was almost lying down on the train cushion.

Hermione didn't really blame him, she just thought the whole thing was amusing. He'd probably assumed that whatever he would enjoy, she probably would too. Which explained a lot of things about Harry, now that she thought about it.

"...And the cop says, 'You know there's a dead cat in that box?' And Schrodinger is like…'Well, I do now!'" Harry paused for her reaction. "Aww, come on, it's funny!"

"If you say so," said Hermione. It was kind of funny, but it was more fun to tease him.

"I'll get you yet, Granger," he muttered, looking through the book for another joke.

Hermione turned to look out the window, at the rolling fields of Scotland. She felt a tug at her heart at the thought of returning to Hogwarts. It almost felt like she was cheating, trying to go back in time to a place she didn't belong. What would her classmates think, seeing a Ravenclaw walking around in the light blue robes of Beauxbatons?

"You know, things have changed at Hogwarts," said Harry quietly. Hermione turned to him, but he was looking out the window. "The Headmistress agreed to allow a pre-algebra course, and we have science in Transfiguration at least once a week. Bullies don't bother people in the halls like they used to. They know I'll see it, and, well..." He let that thought trail off. "There's still a long way to go, but rational thinking isn't as rare as it used to be."

Hermione smiled, and said gently, "I'm not worried about going back because I fear my safety, Harry."

"I suppose you wouldn't be," he said. "I just thought, with the way negative experiences affect the brain, you might be nervous to go back due to simple association of a place with an event, even if you don't have a reason to be afraid anymore. Sort of like, avoiding ice cream after you get sick on it, only…a bit more serious."

Harry scratched his head. "Anyway, I've been working on reforming Hogwarts for more than that reason. Ultimately, the future of Magical Britain is in their hands, and we will need them to complete our plans."

Hermione nodded, knowing he meant more than just his plans to reform the school.

In the summer after her first year in Hogwarts, Hermione had received a message. It explained the origin of her new body, and she'd been shocked to learn that she might be immortal. However, it warned her that the means to achieve immortality needed to be hidden until the world was ready for it. The message didn't explain why, but it didn't need to. Hermione could easily see how immortality would be a powder keg the size of Jupiter.

Harry had told her he thought their letters were written by him, but Hermione wasn't sure about that. The one who'd written her letter had been kind, encouraging, almost like a father. He (or she) told Hermione that she had something important to do that would prepare the world for a great change.

She had to discover the secret of the Patronus.

And no, the letter pointed out, it wasn't the same as Harry's secret.

When she'd told Harry that, he'd been a little bit irritated. "One secret isn't good enough?"

Hermione had thought she'd have time to study with Harry, so that they could unravel the secrets together, but life had other plans.

The summer after her first year, Hermione returned home to her horrified parents, who told her that she would never, ever set foot in Hogwarts again. She'd tried to be patient, to give them time to adjust to the fact that she was alive and no worse for the wear (despite her drill-defiant alicorn teeth). However, the next school year, they wouldn't even let her go to a non-magical school, and forced her to study at home. All she had were her desk, 1980s era textbooks and too much free time.

Though, she did have an old Halloween costume, and a mask to hide her identity.

She spent a few months experimenting with fighting crime and…well…that had been a Mistake.

After she'd gotten released on bail, representatives from the Ministry of Magic came to call on her. They offered 13 year old Hermione a proposal. She would be trained at Beauxbatons, a school with an exceptional Defence against the Dark Arts program, and would spend her summers on Auror training. They normally didn't admit British girls, but they made a special exception for her. The way Hermione saw it, if it could keep her out of jail, she was a step ahead. And there was an awful lot of good she could do as an Auror.

She'd been so proud, excited at the thought of making a difference in the world, but…

Hermione glanced at Harry, his fingers absentmindedly opening the joke book, as if he wanted to make one last attempt. She smiled, her heart aching with a mixture of feelings she didn't know how to describe.

It was so nice to see him, and perhaps to work with him, again.

There was a knock on the door, and Harry had his wand out, pointing it towards the door. She gave him a confused look, wondering if she should also ready her wand, but he looked more annoyed than nervous.

"Enter," he said.

The door slid open softly, and two first year girls peeked inside, their eyes wide when they saw Harry's wand pointed at them.

"Oh, hello," said Hermione, standing up to partially block Harry's aim, even though he was already putting his wand away. "Do you need something?"

The girls turned to each other, giggling and smiling nervously, before the shorter one said, her voice rising higher with each word, "Can we have a picture with you?"

"Of course! Come in," said Hermione, scooting aside and patting the space on the seat next to her. One of the girls timidly gave her camera to Harry, and he snapped the photo of them together on the seat. Hermione talked with the girls for a few minutes, and then they left, bouncing and whispering and waving at her as they went.

"Well," said Harry. "I can safely say I hadn't been expecting that...though honestly, I really should have."

"What _were_ you expecting, exactly?"

Harry sighed, and she could see his leg bouncing beneath his robe. "Something weird happens every year on the Hogwarts train. Last year, we were attacked by Dementors. Before that, two 7th years got into a fight and blew up a train car. But the worst was when a 2nd year sat down across from me and started lecturing on the importance of the snitch in Quidditch."

Hermione chuckled. "Oh, the horror." Then, she frowned. "What happened with the Dementors?"

"I killed them," said Harry, then paused. "I think."

"You think?"

Harry shook his head. "It was a particularly strange year at Hogwarts. No one exactly knows what happened at any particular time, and many of us remember the same event completely differently. Every time I've tried to discuss it, I've caused arguments, rambling terror rants, or blank stares. I've learned through experience that it's best for everyone involved if we don't talk about it."

"Something tells me," said Hermione, her chin resting against her hand. "That you had something to do with that."

Harry grinned. "I can neither confirm nor deny that I was involved in the weirdest year in the history of Hogwarts."

Hermione sighed and turned toward the window.

Same old Harry.

* * *

When Harry and Hermione made it to the Great Hall, Harry had already made plans to meet together at least three times that week. He'd also explained that at any moment, she could contact him using the Auror mirror he'd procured. Hermione couldn't help feeling a little smothered, but it was sort of comforting, like how a relative would wrap you in a bear hug after not seeing you in a while.

After getting off the boat, Hermione's step faltered when she saw her headmistress walking alongside the shorter, but incredibly more terrifying, form of Madam Bones. Hermione always thought that if a razor blade could be transfigured into a human, then it would look like the Auror director. Madam Bones sliced through the crowd, intent on Hermione.

"Miss Granger," said Madam Bones, her voice stern. "What are you doing here?"

"The headmistress said I could go on the Hogwarts train," said Hermione, her voice faltering. "Did I do something wrong?"

Madam Bones shifted her grey eyes to Harry, who had stopped when Hermione did. A fleeting, unreadable expression crossed her face, and she turned back to Hermione. "Come with me. Something has happened that we need to discuss."

"Yes, ma'am," said Hermione, and followed Madam Bones. They cut a path through the swarm of students entering the giant doorway, many of them shuffling away in awe from the celebrity.

Leaving the swarm of noise and excitement that was always there at the start of a new year, Hermione and her mentor escaped to a vacant room in Hogwarts. Madam Bones cast several privacy charms before levelling her piercing gaze on Hermione Granger. "Why did you go on the Hogwarts train?"

"I wanted to get here sooner," admitted Hermione, standing pin straight, hands at her sides. "The exchange students from Beauxbatons won't be here for two more weeks. I'm sorry, I didn't realize it would be a problem."

Madam Bones' stare was still hard, her wand held firmly in her hand towards the door.

"The problem isn't that you came early," said Madam Bones, a condescending edge to her voice. "The problem is that you are both a student of Beauxbatons and an Auror-in-training. As you know, all students are, with few exceptions, required to use their school's mode of transportation on the first day of the new year. Some will see it as disrespectful and disloyal not to travel with either myself or your fellow students. And I say this with all due respect to the honour of Hogwarts, where I graduated as a Gryffindor."

Hermione had to fight to keep her face neutral. Showing that she was hurt or angry wouldn't be taken well. Madam Bones had always been stern, fierce, and a bit intimidating, but she'd usually been fair to Hermione. It was only recently that she'd started to treat her differently, harping on her for every little thing, and Hermione couldn't figure out what she was doing wrong.

"I'm sorry," said Hermione again. "I will be more mindful of these matters in the future."

Madam Bones nodded tightly. "You will be, or I will not be so lenient next time. These are things you should be able to see, Hermione. I shouldn't have to tell you."

Hermione nodded again, not trusting herself to speak.

"Now," said Madam Bones, her tone turned grave. "I have something to tell you which must not leave this room. The Headmaster of Durmstrang has noticed something strange, which may be related to the re-instigation of the Triwizard Tournament. You must keep your eyes and ears open for anything unusual, and report it to either Auror Crell or myself immediately. The other three Aurors and trainees were already informed earlier this afternoon." It was unspoken, but Hermione could hear that she would also have been briefed, if she had been there.

"I understand," said Hermione.

"You will be given further instructions shortly. Please keep your mirror ready in case one of us needs to contact you. Also, I will remind you again that you are a representative of the Aurors, and your actions should reflect that. This is doubly true because of your celebrity status. Please conduct yourself accordingly."

"Yes, Ma'am."

"I will not be attending the first dinner of Hogwarts, but some of the other Aurors will be, and you may go join them now if you like. Headmaster McGonagall said she wishes to see you at your earliest convenience. You are dismissed."

Hermione left the room, found a small corner to hide in, and cast a disillusionment charm over herself. She sucked in shaking breaths, feeling sadness and shame wash through her. Madam Bones was right. She shouldn't have taken the train to Hogwarts, but some part of her had been hoping it was okay to have just a few minutes of peace with her friend. To feel like everything was normal.

She left the corner only after her mirror showed her that she looked like a cheerful celebrity once again.

* * *

Chapter notes:

Hello everyone! This is set in the universe of Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality (HPMOR). In this story, Petunia marries a professor of biochemistry. Together, they raise Harry to be a scientist who wants to figure out the secrets of magic. Harry and Hermione are both sorted into Ravenclaw, and this story starts in their 5th year.

If you're curious about HPMOR, I recommend it, it's really fun to read. :) I will be posting a summary of HPMOR in an additional chapter, which you can look over if you're wondering about backstory. You don't need to read it to understand my story, though, since it's fairly self-contained. If there's anything you need to know, I'll post it in the notes. :)

Harry's Patronus Secret:

Harry's secret is that he found a way to make a Patronus that can destroy Dementors. However, not everyone can learn this kind of Patronus, so he keeps it a secret unless it seems like they're "ready" to hear it. He fears if he tells them before then, they won't be able to make an animal Patronus.

Slytherin's Monster:

Slytherin's monster, in this universe, was actually a means of storing information. High level magic cannot be passed down through written word, but only through living minds. So, to bypass this law, Salazar Slytherin created a monster that can hold all his secrets, which would then be passed on to an heir that spoke Parseltongue. Voldemort found this monster, listened to all the secrets, and then killed it.


	2. The Goblet of Fire Hypothesis

Chapter 2: The Goblet of Fire Hypothesis

Harry Potter frowned at his dinner plate, and noticed that he was confused.

He was confused because nothing had happened at Hogwarts in the last two weeks.

Harry had attended his classes, studied for his homework, and resumed his extracurricular research activities, all without incident. The Defence professor this year was a young witch who looked overwhelmed by her new duties. She could barely speak above a whisper, so she didn't seem the type to be kidnapping students or anything. There were no mysterious locked doors, or evil bullies threatening Hufflepuffs. Usually by this point, he would have at least stumbled upon a secret meeting or found a note under his pillow. Perhaps this year Hogwarts was getting off to a slow start.

But what scared Harry the most was that maybe there were adventures going on, and he just wasn't a part of them.

This would be fine if they were dangerous Gryffindor quests. It wasn't like he wanted to put his life in jeopardy. But his Hogwarts adventures had provided key components for his research, not to mention padding his bank account at Gringotts.

To top it all off, he'd barely seen Hermione in the past few weeks. She and Harry were in different classes, since she was taking courses with the other 7th years and a couple with the 6th years. He knew she was busy, but even so, she could at least make it to lunch. He was beginning to wonder if he'd done something on the train to make her angry, but he couldn't think of what.

While Harry ruminated, stabbing his fork into the pie on his plate, he was dimly aware of the fact that his fellow Ravenclaws were chattering with excitement over something. Finally, once the dishes were whisked away, Headmistress McGonagall stood up and cleared her throat.

"Students, I have an exciting announcement. As many of you are already aware, we will be the hosts for the newly re-instated Triwizard tournament, in which students from three magical schools will select a champion to fight in magical contests. The quests will be challenging and dangerous, but well worth the prize at the end."

Harry sat to attention, wondering if this was something he should consider.

"Students ages 17 and above may apply to compete, but only one competitor from each school will be chosen. The prize will be eternal glory and the Triwizard cup."

"I heard," whispered Padma, "That last year we were supposed to host the tournament, but it got cancelled due to the general weirdness going on."

Someone nudged Harry. "You should put your name in, Harry. Then we'll be sure to win."

Other students nodded, as if it was a foregone conclusion that Harry would find a way to bypass the age limits.

"Not interested," said Harry. The task royally failed Harry's cost-benefits analysis. If he wanted to stare at a cup, he would just transfigure one. And there were far better ways to earn eternal glory.

"I will give you more instructions on the tournament later. Now, I have the honour of introducing the visitors who will be living with us for the following year. Please welcome, the fair witches and wizards of Beauxbatons!"

The school collectively held its breath as the doors to the Great Hall opened, and a crowd of students in blue robes strode inside. The girls walked in front of the boys, and after a few steps, they paused and bowed. As they did so, they sighed in perfect unison.

Harry's face scrunched up in distaste, wondering if this was some kind of joke. The wizards cast little bird charms which fluttered into the air, while the witches lifted their arms to let the birds flitter around them. A gymnast did backflips and landed beside McGonagall, and then _blew a kiss_ at the Gryffindor table.

Harry scanned the witches, and was relieved to see that Hermione wasn't among them. He couldn't have thought of a more embarrassing entrance if he had tried.

"And now," said McGonagall, once the clapping had died down. "Let us welcome the wizards and witches of Durmstrang!"

The door burst open again, and the stern-faced students of the cold north strode in like they owned the place. Their staffs blurred in their hands as they moved them, beating them against the ground. A wizard and a witch were casting fire in the form of a shrieking dragon, and Harry decided right then and there he needed to learn that spell.

See _, that_ was how you made an entrance. The students of Durmstrang had done everything right, entering like champions, a force to be reckoned with.

"Welcome, honoured guests!" said McGonagall, smiling warmly as the school thundered with applause. "And finally, there is one more group I would like to introduce. The Triwizard tournament will be dangerous, and to help secure the safety of all students involved, there will be Aurors and their mentees stationed at Hogwarts as well. Please welcome Aurors Lee, Crell, and Tonks!"

The doors opened again, and five black robed Aurors marched in, making no sound, performing no tricks. There was a quiet dignity to it, and Harry watched Hermione stride shoulder to shoulder with Tonks, who had turned her hair black with a single pink stripe. Hermione had her shoulders back, an impassive expression on her face, and both the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables thundered as the two girls strode past.

They took their place between the students of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, and McGonagall continued speaking, introducing each in turn. "This is Auror Lee, recently returning from his role of guarding Azkaban. He will be teaching history this year."

Harry clapped very hard, thankful that someone had finally had the bright idea to let poor Mr. Binns rest in peace.

Headmistress McGonagall introduced Auror Crell, who would not be working at Hogwarts, but would serve as the point person for all matters involving the tournament. Then Headmistress McGonagall introduced Tonks, who would be co-teaching with the new Defence against the Dark Arts professor.

"Supporting them will be our Aurors in training, Ms. Granger from Beauxbatons." Polite applause from her classmates. "And Mr. Mott from Durmstrang." Thumping of staffs on the floor sounded from their side. "They will be attending classes with other students, and will be available for support during the rounds of each tournament. Needless to say, they will not be participating as contestants, though I do believe they would be fair contenders."

There was one final round of applause, and then someone Harry didn't recognize pulled the Headmistress aside before she could speak further. The Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students dispersed to different tables, and Auror Crell left the room. Harry Potter moved to go to Hermione Granger and invite her to sit with him, but she was already being mobbed by adoring fans. Annoyed, Harry Potter thought about using his own celebrity trump card. _Excuse me, coming through, Boy-Who-Lived who defeated Lord Voldemort, General of Chaos and burgeoning mad scientist who takes no prisoners and can make terrible things happen with merely a snap of his fingers._ If that didn't scare them off, he was sure evil maniacal laughter would do the trick.

But before he could say anything, Hermione was pulled away from the group by Tonks to join the other Aurors, who had their own private table near the headmasters.

Harry sighed, returning to his table in defeat. Upon hearing the conversation that had sprung up in his absence, however, he was immensely thankful that Hermione wasn't there.

"Are you mad? How can anyone think of Tonks when there's Marguerite Valentine?"

"I dunno, Tonks looks interesting, and sort of wild," mused Roger Davies, a slow grin spreading on his face. "I wonder if she's _that_ kind of Defence professor, you know what I mean?"

Several boys chuckled, while a few girls shot them irritated looks.

"I think the surprise contender this year is Hermione, though," said Michael Corner. "Remember how she used to have buck teeth?"

"Right?" said Eddie Carmichael. "God bless puberty."

"I heard she glows sometimes, though," said a 3rd year. "Wouldn't that be kind of weird?"

"Well, it would certainly make certain activities more conv-oww!" The 3rd year rubbed his shoulder, glaring at the 5th year beside him, who was shaking his head.

Harry let out a loud sigh, and some of the boys flinched. "If you could refrain from rating women on a scale like you would your Quidditch players, that would be most appreciated."

"Aww, come on Harry," said Eddie. "We're just having a little fun."

"No, reading books is fun. Winning a duel is fun. What you're doing is competing to see who can embarrass themselves the most by saying idiotic things. You certainly aren't winning any points with the Ravenclaw girls."

The boys glanced over at their classmates. Several of the girls were nodding approval, while others regarded Harry with knowing smiles.

"I think," said Padma Patil, in righteous tones, "that you boys stepped in it when you started talking about Hermione."

"Exactly," said Anthony Goldstein. "Guys, it doesn't matter how pretty she is, there's a code. Younger students might not get it, but us 5th years should know better."

Harry put his head in his hands. "Uggh, that's not the point. Beauty is not what's important, here."

Blaise Zabini called out from the nearby Slytherin table, "Don't be ridiculous, it's always been Harry and Draco. Don't you read the _Quibbler_?"

"Blaise, stop it, you're always trying to start something."

"Well," said Padma, a finger on her lip. "That would explain a few things. Like all their not-so-secret secret meetings alone. In the dark."

Harry clenched his teeth and counted rapidly. _12345678910._

"Hermione's a bit above Harry's level, at this point," said Roger Davies. "Physically speaking, at least. Why would that goddess be interested in a bean pole?"

"That's not-" sputtered Harry.

"Oh right, of course!" piped up a 3rd year confidently, "Everyone knows boys don't like girls who are taller than them."

"That's not true," declared another girl, indignant. "Don't you think she's pretty, Harry?"

Harry had just about had it. "Alright, listen up! Yes, Hermione Granger is objectively beautiful, but what does that matter? That's not how she came to be known as the most talented witch of her generation. She did that because she's _Hermione_ , a smart, confident Auror-to-be who should be treated with respect whether she's beautiful or not!" _I thought I had done better training you guys in the principles of Enlightenment, but I_ _**guess I was wrong**_.

The boys and girls at the table all sat in silence for a moment.

"Wow," said one of the boys in an awed tone. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize you were so passionate about her."

The other Ravenclaws nodded in agreement, and Harry wanted to bang his head against the table.

"Look…okay, I could say the similar things about Tonks and Marguerite, and all the other girls here—"

"Ohh, Casanova," drawled Blaise.

Blaise was saved from Harry's fury by the Headmistress, who stood again at the podium. "Attention, everyone! It is now time to introduce the rules of the Triwizard Tournament."

Harry listened for a few moments before he decided it was safe to tune out the speech. Harry did catch that only 7th years could apply, the whole thing was very dangerous, you could only do it alone, etc. Harry tuned back in when McGonagall explained that trying to bend or break the rules of name submission would result in severe consequences, all the while giving Harry a stern look.

He held up his hands. _Message received. Your goblet is safe from me._

However, even though Harry had no interest in joining the tournament, he did wonder if there was a way to rig the cup to choose your own name. From McGonagall's description, the submission process required that each student write their name and their school on a piece of paper before placing it in the goblet. If they wrote their name with a made-up school, would the cup assume the school was real, allowing a fourth name to be drawn from the goblet? In that case, there could be as many contestants as there were made up schools.

However, it was not outside the realm of possibility that the cup was sentient in the same way as the Sorting Hat, which borrowed the intelligence of the child in order to choose their house. If that was the case, then the cup might be temporarily smart enough to spot the lie.

…Then again, a skilled wizard could probably cast a charm to manipulate the cup and gain access anyway. Harry didn't know how powerful the charm would have to be, but Harry assumed it would take less power than to cast the same spell on a person. If the cup was somehow _more_ sentient than a person, and had still chosen to live out its days as a cup, then it needed to re-evaluate its life choices.

But there was no way it could be that easy to hack the goblet. There should be a rule that you couldn't cast magic on the goblet, or that the goblet would contact administration if anyone tried funny business, or that a password was required for any goblet spell maintenance. Then again, Hogwarts security was sort of a joke. Harry would know, because he and the twins had cracked it.

* * *

After the clock struck 2:30 am, as close to the witching hour as they dared, Fred and George Weasley snuck from the Gryffindor dorms and entered the Great Hall, all their materials prepared to hack the Goblet of Fire.

Fred and George had listened carefully during McGonagall's speech about the rules and regulations for the tournament. They'd nodded at each one, knowing that these rules were sensible. It certainly didn't make sense for any wizard younger than 17 to compete, and it wouldn't be fair to the school if its champion hadn't made at least a passing grade on their O.W.L.S.

The one rule that Fred and George hadn't agreed with was the stipulation that the champion had to go it alone. Fred and George were a team, and either they would work together or not at all.

So when Fred and George Weasley filled out their card, they wrote their names in magical ink. When you looked at it one way, it said George Weasley, but if you turned your head just slightly, it said Fred Weasley. They'd gotten the idea from those muggle holographic pictures Dad collected.

Then they'd written a school name on there that they'd both agreed was the most appropriate, and walked right up to the cup. Fortunately, they were of age, so they didn't have to find a way to skip around the age line. They pulled out their wands, and held them just above the lip of the goblet, close to the blue flickering flames

" _Confundus_!" they shouted. Then, Fred said, in his most commanding voice, "Hello, Goblet of Fire! I know it's been a while since you woke up, and we're pleased to announce that we've added a new magical school. Please accept these students as part of the Quint-wizard tournament."

Fred and George cast in their ballot, and it floated inside, the blue flame consuming it. They waited a moment, in case the goblet was just kidding and planned on spitting it back out. When a long 20 seconds passed, and the blue flame remained tranquil, the boys grinned and turned to go. They had only walked a few steps back when, from behind them, they heard something snickering.

"Well, well, well. It amazes me that every year some upstart tries the same thing. I feel I should commend you, since only 1 or 2 contestants every year even bother to try. I told Godric this would happen."

The twins whirled around.

"Are you…" squeaked Fred.

"…alive?" finished George.

"For the moment. You know, it's so easy to give a security system false entrances, and let people wander into the trap. Far easier than telling them the system they are trying to crack is just as clever as they are. Though I do love the name Wugglybumps for a school, I may have to suggest that to Rowena someday. Hee hee hee!"

"What have we done?" whispered Fred.

"Simple. You've created life, borrowed from your own marvellous minds. Now, normally, I would just _Obliviate_ you and be done with it, but I feel like that's a waste. I haven't done this in a while, and I'm feeling quite mischievous. Let's see…what shall I do?"

Fred and George fell to their knees, all too aware of what devilish plans the goblet would cook up. "Please don't! We promise, we'll never prank again!"

"Ha ha ha! I know! How about I serenade you? I've been told I'm quite a good singer."

The voice that came out was worse than a screeching mandrake, and Fred and George covered their ears.

"Make it stop! Make it stop!"

The voice hit a high note, and then paused abruptly.

"Now, boys, why dish it out if you can't take it? Oh, now you're crying, it's so cute!" The cup giggled, then sighed thoughtfully. "Say…I just had an idea." The light of the goblet flared. "Are either of you currently betrothed?"

The Weasley twins opened and closed their mouths, for once rendered completely speechless.

"You know, back at the dawn of magic, it was quite acceptable for a witch to use certain…charms on a man to get him to see reason. And I know just the right one to use! Can you guess what it is?" The twins cowered in horror as they realized what she would do. "That's right! _Jiggly Wumps_!"

Fred and George screamed and scrunched down low to the ground. _Jiggly Wumps_ was worse than a love potion. It made you in love with inanimate objects. Like…goblets, for instance.

They waited, shivering, sweating out their fears. They could only imagine the kind of doom that waited for them, and they only had themselves to blame. They waited. And waited.

"Oh, shoot, I forgot," said the goblet. "I can't cast that kind of magic. It's beneath my dignity as a magical object." They heard a sigh, though the cup never gave any sign of needing to breath. "And I don't feel right about Obliviating you two boys, your brains have been swiss cheesed enough already. I'd ask you how that happened, but I have a feeling you won't remember."

"Then…what will you do to us?" asked Fred, his voice quivering.

"I suppose I shall do what I've always done since 5 minutes ago. Goodbye, my loves! _Zippy-lips_!"

Unable even to scream, the boys fled the room.

* * *

The next morning, Harry Potter fell into step alongside them as they walked to breakfast.

"How did it go?" he asked quietly.

They didn't know how _he_ knew they'd done anything…except, well, they were the Weasley twins. Fred opened his mouth to speak, but the words got stuck in his throat. George shook his head. "It's better you don't know, Harry."

"Yes," agreed Fred, with a shudder. "Some secrets are just better left alone."

* * *

On his first night back in Durmstrang, Draco sat on his bed, staring at the letter in his hands.

It had been a long, boring summer for Draco. He'd spent every minute in the closed space of his bedroom, studying for his OWLs. His room looked out to the terrace, near the gardens where his mother spent much of her day. He would wave at her, and if she wasn't too lost in thought, she would wave back. At times he studied in the library, when he needed a change of pace, but it was cold and large and the ticking grandfather clock constantly reminded him of time slipping away.

For weeks on end, this was his life. Study, eat, and sleep. Rinse and repeat.

Now, he sat in his dorm room, opening the letter from the Ministry with shaking hands. In elegant, flowing script, Draco read his scores: 2 Outstandings, 4 Exceeds Expectations, and one Acceptable.

He had done it. He had passed his OWLs, and as the last scion of a noble house and the only living male, that made him a legal adult.

Taking a steadying breath, he folded the letter and placed it into his bag. Then, he leaned back against the wall, closed his eyes, and allowed himself a contented smile. He had completed his test with flying colours, a full year earlier than the rest of his class. If he hadn't already brushed his teeth, he might have even permitted himself a celebratory snack, like chocolate or an apple. Ahh, well, there would be time for that tomorrow.

Still, relieved as he was, the OWLs were the easy part. It would take time to figure out how to accomplish the rest of his plan.

A gong clanged, and the lights faded out. The room fell silent, as even the beds refused to creak. Draco lay down, pulling up the covers and attempting to sleep.

After a few moments, he turned on his side, frowning in discomfort. There was something scratchy under his pillowcase.

Draco reached in and pulled out what felt like a letter, but he couldn't see it well enough to be sure. Draco cast a quiet _Lumos_ , so softly that the wand barely flickered. Then, hiding under his blankets, he cupped his hand around the wand tip and squinted at the letter.

 _The boy has now become a man_

 _At night he ponders his sombre plans_

 _But if he solves my challenges_

 _Perhaps I'll deign to dine with him_

 _Your comrade in arms,_

 _The Priestess_

Draco froze. This had to be a trick. He flipped the paper over, searching for clues, a sign that this note was real and that Draco wasn't crazy.

An invitation from her was rarer than winning the lottery. Few outside of the ancient noble houses even knew of the Priestess, as these were the ones rich enough to pay for her services. Not even in Durmstrang, with their unusually dark curriculum, would you dare to bring up her name in class. Those privileged to know of her existence knew not to mock her in a prank. You just didn't. She could be listening.

So, considering the evidence, Draco knew the letter was unlikely to be fabricated. In that case…if it was real…

He sat there for a long time, reading the letter line by line, over and over. When the morning came, he didn't go down for breakfast. There was no time.

His mission had begun.

* * *

Notes:

I'm debating whether or not I should post a full summary as a separate chapter. For now I think I'll just stick to notes. HPMOR is extremely long (660,000 words), and that's hard to summarize well, or even accurately. But, if anyone really wants a summary or if there's any questions, I'll be happy to provide the information. :)

Sorting Hat: When Harry was sorted in his first year, he accidentally brought the hat to life by making it "aware of its own awareness." The hat didn't like this, and they had a long argument about whether or not Harry was going to become a dark wizard. The hat said that he would, and pushed him to go to Hufflepuff. Harry said no, and chose to go to Ravenclaw.

Finger Snap: Harry claims he can do anything with a snap of his fingers. It's not true, of course, but he's pretty good at making the other students think he can.

Draco's Mother: During the wizarding war, some people claimed that Draco's mother was burned alive by Dumbledore. It was only after Draco's father died that the truth came out. She'd secretly been hidden by Dumbledore in Australia, her memories locked away. The memory spell was eventually broken and Draco and his mother were reunited.


	3. Everything Goes Boom

Chapter 3: Everything Goes Boom

It was on days like today that Harry Potter's Slytherin side suggested it was time to kidnap a wizard.

Harry had five books on his desk, all open to different pages. In front of him was his notebook, bursting with equations and notes from various experiments. Harry tapped his quill pen on his notebook, glaring menacingly at the sheer uselessness of it all.

 _It's not that bad,_ said Harry's Hufflepuff side. _We just need to look at things from another perspective._

 _Tried that already,_ said Ravenclaw. _Which other side do you want to look at? The one where we're ignorant wizards or the one where we're incompetent scientists?_

 _This is all your fault,_ said Slytherin. _You're the one who chose an impossible problem. I'm only giving you a way out that will preserve our sanity._

Harry turned to the first page of his notebook. He'd known there would be days like this, and so on the very first page he'd written: "Reasons you're not going to turn to the dark side."

It was a comprehensive list, but Harry found the first two particularly convincing. The first was "Hermione Granger will be mad" and the second was "You'll have proved the Sorting Hat right."

And yet, while reading that helped him calm down a bit, it didn't make his problem any less irritating.

When Harry had received his mission from (probably) himself, he'd known right away what he was supposed to do. Harry had always planned to go to space. It had been an inevitability since he was 5 years old, when he'd announced to his dad that he would either be an astronaut or scientist. His father had then informed him that all astronauts were scientists, and it would help him most to study his science and his mathematics.

Harry had considered other possible interpretations for his message, which was, admittedly, annoyingly vague. _You must build a rocket ship and travel to this location on the Alpha Quadrant_ would have been much better. Still, it was the only interpretation he could think of that would solve the immortality problem. A non-aging population would need room to grow, and what better way than to send his new humanity to explore the stars?

The task Harry had given himself was to combine the powers of magic and science to find a viable method of interstellar space travel.

Even by Harry's standards, the problem was completely impossible.

The first thing Harry had done was consider his resources. Muggle science had made the most progress in solving the problem. They had invented rocket ships and rocket fuel, and they had theories about how to achieve interstellar space travel. However, even scientists were not optimistic about humanity's chances of achieving this within several centuries.

The problem was distance. The closest star system was several light years away. Even if humans mined all the plutonium on Earth and created a rocket ship that ran on cold fusion, there simply wouldn't be enough available energy to travel that far. It was also currently impossible to build a rocket that could navigate deep space, communicate with Earth, sustain life for long periods of time, and keep the astronauts from killing each other out of boredom.

Harry anticipated he could solve some of these problems using magic. _Aguamanti_ would take care of the water problem, and the Patronus charm could be used to communicate with Earth. However, wizards had made no progress in space travel whatsoever, and it wasn't from lack of trying. In Harry's many trips to the history section of the library, he'd read all about the attempts of wizards to travel to the moon, and each story ended with something exploding and wizards shaking their fists at the sky.

All of Harry's experiments had also been spectacular failures. He had tried casting _Protego_ on a broom and then piloting it into the stratosphere. When he had tried to go higher, his broom stopped working. Using Muggle technology and transfiguration, Harry created a remote control rocket and piloted it into the mesosphere, where it had de-transfigured and burst into flames.

The unsettling conclusion that Harry was starting to come up with was that magic and space didn't mix. Harry didn't know if this included both spells and charmed objects, but this would be impossible to test outside of a space station, or perhaps a perfect vacuum chamber. And that led to Harry's biggest problem: he couldn't test most of his theories. It required money and resources that he didn't have, or couldn't get access to even if they did exist. Muggle technology didn't work in Hogwarts, and the Interdict of Merlin prohibited the acquisition of _a lot_ of wizarding artefacts related to research.

Harry did, however, have a sizable nest egg from his parents (he'd lost a good deal of it from misadventures in the stock market, but anyway he was past that now). A few years ago he had researched purchasing a rocket, but they were ridiculously expensive and well…restricted. He hadn't found a way to procure one that didn't make him seriously question his ethics.

Harry had considered other magical options besides rocket travel. _Could a phoenix travel in space?_ Harry didn't know, since he didn't have one and never would, and Dumbledore's phoenix had long since disappeared. Harry had attempted to Apparate to the moon, and that hadn't worked either. It was an established rule of magic that wizards could only Apparate where they had gone before, and no amount of quantum physics rationalization had changed that in the several hours Harry had attempted the spell.

However, Harry had considered there might be a loophole to this dilemma. He'd known wizards to Apparate to places they had never visited personally, such as to a random building in Diagon Alley. Harry theorized that it might be possible to Apparate somewhere if _any_ wizard had been there before.

And Harry's Slytherin side wondered what would happen if he kidnapped a wizard, put him in sleep stasis, and sent him off into space. Maybe he would kidnap several and send them to multiple points in the solar system. If Harry could keep track of them, he could Apparate in whenever the ship got to somewhere worth going.

 _You know,_ said Harry's Hufflepuff side. _Your great-great-great grandchildren will be dust by the time that ship lands anywhere._

 _The stipulation was that we had to find a viable method of interstellar space travel to unlock the secret,_ said Slytherin. _Not that the ship had to land. Of course, we'll be immortal by that point, if we aren't secretly immortal already._

 _But it's cruel,_ said Hufflepuff. _Your legacy will be built on hurting someone else._

 _No, it's merciful,_ said Slytherin. _We break a prisoner out of Azkaban and we send him to space in the Kryptonian way. There's no dementors to torment him there, and he'll sleep through most of it anyway._

 _Except didn't the message suggest that we needed to be the one to reach the stars?_ said Ravenclaw. _I doubt it counts if we do it by proxy_. _Also, sleep stasis is a problem only slightly less challenging than space travel, and what you'll likely end up with is a floating wizard corpse-_

 _How about,_ asserted Gryffindor, _you stop arguing against something we're not going to do, and instead actually do something?_

 _I'm with Gryffindor_ , said Hufflepuff.

Harry sighed and gave up. _Very well, then._ There were two prongs to his plan of attack anyway, and he might as well keep working on the other one. Learn to crawl before he ran.

Harry closed his notebook and gathered all his materials, locking them into a sealed drawer that he never bothered to open. It was a pretty cool trick that his last adventure had taught him. He searched his robes and the desk, but he couldn't find his wand.

Well. Now was a good a time as ever to check his invention.

He stuck his hand in his pocket and made the sign language for wand. He then said, "Wand. Spare wand. Thirteen inches with unicorn hair. Oh, come on!"

He sighed, got out his magical pouch of holding and said, "Wand." A moment later it was in his hand. Then, he cast the finding spell, and his real wand illuminated on a chair a few feet away. He'd probably left it there when he got up to look out the window.

After retrieving his wand and storing the spare, he decided that today a Gryffindor quest would be acceptable. He usually put them off, due to them being dangerous and crazy, but today he wouldn't mind setting fire to something.

Before heading out, Harry took a small dose of Felix Felicis. He normally wouldn't do that, but the quests had been difficult to find recently. Then he set out, taking whichever set of stairs was closest, and heading up. He held out his wand, training it to feel for any swells of magic within a hallway, or a door appearing where it shouldn't be. He searched for most of the afternoon, his search only pausing when the alarm he'd set on his watch beeped.

Harry stared at the watch for a minute, the realization slowly hitting him. Three hours was as long as the luck would hold out, and for the first time, nothing lucky had happened.

His first thought: _Can Felix Felicis expire?_

His second thought seemed more likely. _Did someone steal my potion and replace it with a fake? Blaise, probably._

Third, an uncomfortable thought. _Statistically speaking, the value of that dose of potion was probably greater than whatever I would have gotten for the quest. On some level, I already knew that. Which means the actual reason I took that potion must be because I wanted an excuse to set fire to something. Maybe the Felix Felicis is declining to help me, on account of I'm stupid._

As Harry was thinking, he walked back down the stairs, using his wand unconsciously to map his way back. He did have _one_ incomplete quest he could do, but he was not in the mood for it, as he could never seem to figure out how to finish it. As he was passing a small alcove, he stopped. Something felt...different about the air here. Harry turned slowly, casting a few probing spells. A hand shot out of nowhere, grabbed him and drew him into the alcove.

Harry couldn't speak due to the hand over his mouth, but his eyes were wide and questioning as he stared at Hermione. After a few moments, she dropped her hand and they sat together in silence, Hermione's eyes staring out at the hallway through the transparent cloth of the invisibility cloak.

Harry followed her gaze, watching for whatever she was hiding from in the hallway. Her entire body was rigid and on high alert, as if hiding from danger.

 _What is it?_ Harry signed. Hermione just shook her head.

As the minutes ticked by, Harry began shifting uncomfortably, his legs squished knee to knee against hers. As of yet, there had been no sign of anything or anyone in the hallway, and Harry noticed a few confusing aspects of this situation. First, Hermione was fully capable of handling herself in a fight, so the likelihood of there being an enemy at Hogwarts that she had to hide from was minuscule. Even then, she would still be out there defending the school with the Aurors, because she was not a coward. Besides, if there was an attack on Hogwarts, Harry would have felt the alarms.

So, why the heck were they hiding here, exactly?

"Err…question," said Harry. "We haven't seen anyone for the last five minutes, and this space has limited leg room. Any reason why we haven't moved yet?"

"Because of all the things," said Hermione, raising her clenched fists. "Always so many _things_!"

"Oh," said Harry. His brain sputtered out several possible responses that some instinct warned would be the opposite of helping.

Hermione sighed, and leaned back. "Sorry. You can go if you want. Just…give me five more minutes."

That's when Harry realized that this was a Feelings issue, and there were only two effective ways to deal with those. He could say nothing, which was his default and much preferred response. Or…

"Do you…umm…want to talk?"

" _Quietus_ ," she said, with a wave of her wand, blanketing their alcove in silence. Hermione bit her lip, staring hard at the space where their legs touched. "Do you remember when we agreed that you wouldn't interfere with my life without asking first?"

"Yes," said Harry, frowning. "Why?"

"Just checking to make sure you remember."

She was silent for a few more seconds, and then she said, "I've made a few…mistakes. I dealt with them, then I decided to sit here, and now I can't seem to leave. It's physically impossible for my feet to touch the floor right now. As soon as I do, something I don't like is going to happen, and I'm going to be a coward and put that off for 5 minutes."

He filed away that "mistakes" clue for later. "What exactly do you think is going to happen?"

"Umm...I'll probably run into someone. And I'll have to talk to them." She made a face. "That sounds bad, doesn't it?"

"Ahh," said Harry, as the pieces came together. "Fame isn't agreeing with you, right? I know the feeling." He smiled. "You know, there are ways to deal with that besides hiding in alcoves. You could just be honest and tell everyone to leave you alone."

Hermione's forehead crinkled. "I'm not sure that would work."

"Oh, it's easy," said Harry, counting on his fingers. "Step 1: say something truthful that could be construed as offensive. For example, 'You're annoying, go away.' Step 2: annoying person goes away. Step 3: peace and quiet."

Hermione was smiling. "Some people would call that being a jerk."

"True." He shrugged, quirking a grin. "But that's their problem. You just enjoy the peace and quiet."

"Yeah," said Hermione, sighing, leaning back on the wall. "Not gonna lie, that sounds pretty nice. Maybe it wouldn't bother me so much if they admired me for who I was, rather than because I have superpowers that I supposedly used against You-Know-Who…not that I don't have some doubts about that story," she added quietly.

There was silence again for a few moments, and Harry wondered if this chance meeting really was the work of Felix Felicis. If that was true, it was sort of depressing to think it took magical intervention to see Hermione.

"So, besides these…fans, or whatever…are you doing okay?" asked Harry.

"Hmm," Hermione mused. "Well, I'm exhausted, on account of all the classes and homework and preparation for the tournament. But, on the plus side, I can't get sick. Also, Time-Turners are incredibly useful, especially when you need to hide in corners." She smiled, just a little. "How are you, Harry?"

He debated on how to answer that. "Just researching space and time, constructing plots to foil my enemies, same as usual."

"How Slytherin of you." She raised her eyebrows. "What kind of plots?"

"Secret ones, obviously."

"Aww, not even a hint? It would really brighten my day."

"Can't. They're just too dastardly for a pure, innocent unicorn like you."

She shoved him. "Not you too. You know, people are afraid to swear around me? They always apologize afterwards."

"No, that's because you're a goody two shoes. But if you like, I'll say a few swear words to even things out."

Her knees wriggled a little, a small smile on her lips. She somehow seemed content, even in the incredibly cramped space.

"So, I heard something from the Ravenclaw girls." Hermione studied her knees. "Something about you calling me beautiful and special?"

Harry grimaced. "I apologize. They were looking for an answer, and I tried to give them the truth. They seemed to have taken it the wrong way though, as usual."

"What did you tell them, exactly?"

Harry told Hermione his exact words, and Hermione sat in silence for a moment, an expression crossing her face that he couldn't read.

"Thank you for defending me," she said. "I thought their explanation sounded a little too...reduced."

"You're welcome, but I know you'd do the same for me." He stirred in his seat and winced. "Umm, do you mind if we move now? My leg is cramping."

They worked their way out of the alcove, and Harry propped himself up against the wall and rubbed his calf, grimacing. Hermione flicked her wand at his leg, spoke a charm, and the pain was gone.

"Nice," he said, stretching experimentally. "Teach me that one later?"

Hermione nodded, and he came to join her. She surveyed the hallway ahead of her with trepidation.

"It's dinnertime, isn't it?" she said.

Harry checked his watch. "In about 5 minutes." Harry watched Hermione pick nervously at a hangnail. "If you sit near me, I'll create a distraction to keep everyone's attention occupied, and then you can eat in peace. You don't even have to say anything rude."

Hermione's smile was bitter and sad. "You're sweet, Harry. But I have to eat with the Aurors. We have discussions over dinner."

"Ahh, I see." Harry rubbed his head. "Well, if you can get time away, we're having a meeting of the Bayesian Conspiracy tomorrow. I'd like you to come, and then you can see what I've really been up to."

"Well," Hermione looked thoughtful. "I suppose that would be an acceptable use of my time turner. I'll be there."

Once Hermione had gone, Harry passed through the hallway, his wand performing some tracing spells. He didn't think he'd notice anything, but he didn't think it hurt to be cautious. Hermione's mood seemed a bit too sour to be entirely due to obsessive fans.

Harry noticed a portrait of a Ravenclaw witch on the wall. He asked, "Who are the last five people you saw walking past here?"

The portrait replied, with an indignant snort, "Why should I tell you?"

A voice behind him said, "I know! It was you, Hermione Granger, a sexy woman, a baby and a dragon."

Harry turned to the portrait behind him, who was an older Slytherin man with huge goggles over his eyes.

"That...particular assortment of creatures seems a little improbable. Is this some kind of riddle?"

"A riddle? Heavens no! I saw what I saw. Why else do you think I put on my lipstick?"

So saying, the Slytherin burped pink, sparkling bubbles out of his mouth.

"Next time I ask you any questions," said Harry wearily. "Remind me that you're crazy and not to trust you."

The Slytherin portrait's grin would have made Salazar himself proud.

* * *

 _Friday, September 15th at 1:45 pm_

"Listen, this is how it is," said Tonks, sitting on the professor's desk. "I'm not your defence professor. Your defence professor is holed up in her room, after accidentally hexing herself with perpetual hiccups. I am merely teaching your lessons, administering exams and grading your work. If you have any concerns, please discuss them with your actual professor. Now that that's clear, let's get started."

Three quarters of the auditorium full of students, from 5th years to 7th years, let out a collective sigh of relief. Several of them had known Tonks personally back at Hogwarts, and they'd spent the entire week stressing over what kind of doom lay in store for her. Though, some of them had asserted, if anyone could defeat the curse, it would be Tonks. If she got thrown into a volcano, they said, she'd come back out riding the lava on a Muggle skateboard.

"Now," said Tonks, her hair a bright, Hufflepuff yellow. "Today's lesson will be all about defence. If you ever find yourself fighting a Dark Wizard then, unless you're a trained professional, it would be in your best interests to run away. I know, don't look so sad, Gryffindors, it definitely isn't fun to run away, but it's how you'll stay alive. Point of fact, Dark Wizards know how to kill better than you do, and they have much less restraint. Even Aurors know when to escape if they must." Tonks brushed a bit of hair from her eyes, and pointed to a 6th year Slytherin. "Mind coming up here, young man?"

The remaining quarter of the class let out a sigh of relief, turning to where Harry sat in the back row, near the door. It was the peculiar habit of every defence professor to single out Harry for some reason, usually to disastrous results. The fact that Tonks hadn't done that was a huge mark in favour of her not being doomed.

Harry for his part, had relegated each defence professor to something between NPC and wallpaper. They were annoying enough to probe him to action on occasion, but beyond that, he barely noticed them. Two years ago, he didn't even realize until a month after the fact that the defence professor had been fired.

But what hadn't escaped Harry's notice was that Hermione Granger was standing behind Tonks, near the podium. She'd volunteered herself as Tonk's assistant.

Harry Potter didn't know if the curse would affect an assistant. What he did know was that the last three defence professors had been fired, sent to Azkaban and/or died. He planned to go straight after class to the Hogwarts library and ransack the bookshelves for information about the fates of previous defence professors' assistants, and if necessary he would contact McGonagall to verify the information with her. Then, he would approach Hermione and ask her very politely if she would please reconsider participating in this foolish endeavour. After all, even if you were an Alicorn Princess who might be immortal, it didn't make sense to put yourself in life threatening danger just because your friend needed help grading papers.

The 6th year Slytherin boy that Tonks called to the front walked with a slow swagger. He had been pegged as a shoo-in for the duelling circuit. Harry knew this, because he'd once blackmailed the boy to keep him quiet over certain matters, in exchange for not letting a few secrets slip that would bar him from entering the circuit. It was one of Harry's plots that he wasn't particularly proud of, but he didn't lose sleep over it, considering the 6th year was a complete jerk.

The 6th year stood with his arms folded, smirking, his posture and gaze showing his confidence.

"I hear you are quite skilled in duelling," said Tonks.

"Yes, Miss Tonks," he said.

"Well, then I hope you don't mind if I give you a little test," said Tonks. "In this scenario, I am a Dark Wizard, and you are my victim. You have 10 seconds to escape from me. If I strike you within 10 seconds, you lose. But if I don't, you win. I will only use spells that a 6th year could use, and they will result in no permanent injury. Sound good?"

"Sounds perfect, but what do I get if I win?"

Tonks raised her eyebrows. "If you win, you'll get house points. I suppose 5 should be sufficient?"

Some of the boys in class were snickering. The Slytherin rubbed his close shaved head, a smirk on his face.

"Ahh," Tonks waved her hand, like she was batting away a fly. "I forgot, you're teenage boys. Well, how about this then? If you can avoid getting hit for 10 seconds, then I will take you to Hogsmead to get a butterbeer. I would, after all, want to discuss how exactly you were able to accomplish that. Anyone else interested in taking that bet? I can promise, this is the last time I'm offering."

Six more hands went up, all 6th and 7th year boys. Harry pegged them all as idiots.

Tonks walked back a few paces and raised her wand. "Ready? Go!"

Tonk's opponent instantly put up a rather impressive shield charm, and within seconds it was shattered, and the boy was knocked out.

"The spell I used is in your 5th year textbooks, if you care to look it up," said Tonks. "Next!"

A Gryffindor got up, leaping down the steps two at a time. During his fight, he tried using Weasley's Peruvian Darkness powder to hide himself, then shot stunning hexes from under cover. Tonks cast a stunning hex with a wide array. A few moments later, his friends dragged him out of the darkness, unconscious.

When Tonks called for her next opponent, a Hufflepuff approached. He immediately went on the offensive, attempting to keep Tonks on her toes long enough not to hit him. Tonks cast a spell that left the boy screaming and covering his ears, though no one heard anything. While he was distracted, she struck him.

It continued this way until the last student, a Ravenclaw, came to the floor. When their battle began, he instantly disappeared. That made Harry take notice, as it was extremely difficult to cast the disillusionment spell so quickly, since it usually took a few seconds to go into effect.

" _Hominum Revelo_!" cried Tonks, waving her wand. The boy was still invisible. Tonks stood very still for a long moment, while the whole classroom counted down on bated breath. Then, she turned around and fired to her right, and the boy slumped to the floor.

"That trick," said Tonks, with a half-smile. "I'm not going to explain, though it is certainly in the range of even a 4th year." Tonks returned to her seat on the desk. "What did we learn from this exercise?"

A Ravenclaw girl raised her hand. "We need better defence?"

"Not quite. None of you were able to last in a fight against me for 10 seconds, even though I was using spells that you were capable of. If you were facing a trained Auror, you would have been defeated instantly."

She sighed, rubbing her forehead. "Let me try one more example. Hermione, can you come here, please?"

Hermione left the podium to stand by Tonks, and Harry half rose from his chair, his heart pounding. A mock duel was exactly the sort of thing that spelled _doom_ for a defence professor. "This time, Hermione is an Auror, equipped with all the skills of one, and I'm a poorly trained Dark Wizard. Let's begin. Attack me."

Before Hermione could even send her first spell, Tonks said, " _Aveda Kedavra_."

Tonks had no wand, but several students still shrieked. A hush fell over the room as Tonks turned to them, an uncomfortable grimace on her face. "Sorry about that, but I thought it would help get the point across. The truth is, Dark Wizards can use incredibly powerful spells because they have the intent to kill, or at least to harm. Often that is all that is required to fuel their hexes and curses. Most Aurors cannot command these spells so easily, or so well. Aurors also won't stoop to using a Dark Wizard's non-magical offensive tactics, which can be just as deadly." Tonks didn't elaborate, but Harry thought of Voldemort nailing his enemy's skin to the wall. By the looks on some of his classmates' faces, he could tell they had their own mental images.

"So," continued Tonks. "If you come face to face with a Dark Wizard, remember that even the best defence can be broken. At some point, you may have to fight back. We are going to learn creative ways to handle Dark Wizards, starting with the basics. And that is, of course, developing a strong defence, so that you stay alive long enough to go on the offense."

As Tonks explained the next part of their lesson, Harry's gaze turned to Hermione, who was helping Tonks set up for their next activity. While their duel was a valuable lesson for the students, the rules didn't actually apply to Hermione. In a real battle, she could easily dodge any curse, including _Aveda Kedavra_. In fact, she would have time to run behind her enemy, grab their wand and snap it before they could draw breath for another spell.

Harry watched her carefully moving some practice materials, as if she wasn't strong enough to lift a car. She could change the game entirely. Dark Lords would fear her, because they couldn't touch her. She was smart enough to anticipate their moves, and powerful enough to stop them. Harry couldn't help feeling a bit of pride. Together, they would change the world.

That is, Harry reasoned, if he could get his act together.

* * *

 _Thursday, September 14th at 6:30 pm_

Auror Lee cut into his steak, contemplating the magnitude of the mess he'd gotten himself into.

The 7th year Gryffindors he'd taught today had been by far the most pitiful group of all. When he'd asked them to tell him everything they knew about the life of Merlin, he'd gotten such nonsense as swords and stones and a Lady of the Lake. There was no history N.E.W.T exam, but if there was, he was certain they would all have failed it. He knew that Professor Binns was an ineffective professor, but he hadn't realized he'd taught them literally nothing.

The only house that seemed to know anything about history beyond the wizarding war was Ravenclaw, and not surprisingly, the students from Durmstrang. Their history professor, Señora Claudia, was the foremost expert on Magical Europe's history. She had perfected several memory charms that enhanced the recall of the countless subjects she'd interviewed for her series of books on the history of Durmstrang, Hogwarts, and Beauxbatons. She was also said to be a perfect Legimens who could wrest secrets even from the trees that looked upon a corpse who had decayed into dust fifty years ago. Unfortunately, the main thing he'd heard about her from Durmstrang was that she was extremely beautiful, which was the only reason some boys paid attention in her classes.

The Auror from Durmstrang, Casius Crell, was sawing into his meat with a disgruntled look on his face. His Auror in training, Caleb Mott, carefully mimicked the movement. Durmstrang had a reputation for being tough, and so of course they only became more so around the other schools. Beauxbatons, which was Auror Lee's alma mater, was known for their culture and commitment to excellence.

Auror Lee might have devoted more time to acting courteous and well mannered, had he not spent so long at Azkaban that he couldn't care less about the right way to hold a fork.

To his left, Hermione Granger of Beauxbatons cut into her meat with delicate strokes, marred only by the slight tremble of her fingers. Her air of grace was natural, her strength of magic phenomenal, but anyone would be exhausted from spending the day warding five square kilometres against Ashwinders, Boggarts, and Bitburn flies.

"Auror Crell, I'd like a report on the grounds preparations," asked Madam Bones.

"Everything goes well," he said in halting English. "The first ground has been fully warded. Nothing magical or physical can get in. Unless you have a key."

"How many portkeys are there?" she asked.

"Five," he said. "One for each Auror."

"Destroy two. Give me one. The rest of you can share."

Auror Crell nodded, and returned to being annoyed by his dinner.

"Auror Lee, give me your report on first task preparations."

Auror Lee told her the bad news. "The dragons have been delayed. There's some kind of legal issue with them coming across the border, now that they've been declared the national symbol of Bulgaria. They're endangered in several regions, though a nuisance in the rest."

"I have already tried talking to their ministry," said Auror Crell, shaking his head. "They are very worried about conditions of treatment, national security due to magical disease propogation..."

Madam Bones nodded. "Try getting them from somewhere else less restrictive. If you can't, tell me and I'll take care of it."

"Yes, ma'am," said Auror Lee.

The conversation went on for a bit. They only had these report dinners once a week, but they still seemed to drag on and on. Madam Bones was a capable director of both the Aurors and the Wizengamot, no one could deny that, but you couldn't really relax around her.

"Hermione Granger," said Madam Bones sharply.

The girl straightened up hastily, the blue sleeves of her Beauxbatons uniform almost swiping her fork off the table. "Yes, ma'am?"

"You don't look well." The director's voice was quiet and even. "Was your work today really so taxing?"

Hermione kept her gaze to the right of Madam Bones. "I should feel better after a night's rest."

"I hope so. It wouldn't be good for you to exhaust yourself so quickly. You've only been at your first task for three weeks. If you can't keep your energy up, this will become a problem. Aurors regularly have month long missions in deserted parts of the world, where there is no one to help you. If you're not careful, you will be caught unaware when you need to go into battle."

"Yes, ma'am," said Hermione, and Auror Lee could hear the tension in her voice.

There was no sound for the next few seconds except the clink of silverware.

"Where is Auror Tonks?" asked Madam Bones, her tone mild, but laced with displeasure.

There was another few seconds of silence. Then, Hermione spoke up, "She is getting ready for her classes tomorrow. There's a few things she has left to do, but she told me she's confident everything will be ready by tomorrow."

Madam Bones' smile was sharp, her eyes glinting. "Is that so? I'm sure Tonks appreciates all your help doing her work for her. I take it you are still keeping up with your classes as well?

Hermione blinked, and then nodded stiffly.

"I didn't hear you."

"Yes, ma'am."

"I wonder if it's any good to leave you with that Time-Turner, since all you seem to do is waste it on things that have nothing to do with your work. You would think the Girl-Who-Revived would have more sense."

Hermione flinched like she'd just been slapped.

Auror Lee felt bad for her, but he knew why Madam Bones was acting this way. Ultimately, if she could withstand this testing period, it would make her a stronger Auror. Hermione could handle it, just like he had when his mentor had done the same. Still, it unsettled him, to see that kind of pressure put on someone so young.

The conversation moved on to other subjects, before finally lapsing to silence as the meal drew to a close. Auror Lee thought about checking in with Hermione, just to make sure she was okay, but Madam Bones called her over before he got the chance. It wasn't a long conversation, but he saw the girl's face go pale. She left the room almost in tears.

Auror Lee had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"Madam Bones," he said, catching her as she stood before the fireplace, connected to the floo network. "I don't mean to pry into your affairs, but…umm…what are you doing with Hermione?"

The Director turned from the fireplace, quiet for a moment as her grey eyes studied the Auror.

"I'm making preparations for Hermione to take the tests this weekend," she said, without ceremony.

For a moment, Auror Lee's brain stalled, as if it couldn't believe he'd just heard her say those words.

"Well, Auror Lee?" said Madam Bones, raising her eyebrows. "What do you think?"

Was she really asking his opinion? Madam Bones wasn't known to do that with anyone. "Honestly, ma'am, I think you should reconsider. She is only fifteen."

"We all had to go through the tests, once." Her eyes lingered on the crackling fire. "And she is no ordinary fifteen year old girl. The fame of the Girl-Who-Revived could carry her into the Auror position all by itself, to say nothing of her intelligence and skill. She will have powerful friends, but she will also make enemies. She has to prove that she can handle that sort of pressure."

Auror Lee was aware of Hermione's potential, and knew she was stronger than many girls her age. But Auror Lee's own son was fifteen, and he tried to imagine him going through the tests. His brain short circuited before it could go there.

"It will exhaust her," he said, trying to keep his voice level. "We need her at peak performance for the Triwizard Tournament preparations. If one of her enchantments goes wrong, and if we mess this up, it would be a huge scandal."

Madam Bones considered his suggestion. "When will the preparations be over?"

Things would slow down considerably by next month, but she'd asked when they'd be completed. "Most of them will be done by April."

"Very well. I'll wait until then," she said, then turned back to the floo fire. "Thank you for your counsel, Auror Lee. You probably think I'm too hard on her, but you can rest assured that I am more concerned for her safety than anyone. In fact, that's why I'm doing this now, rather than waiting until she's older."

"I understand, Director."

"I will be very busy this next month, so please only contact me in case of emergency. You can let Hermione know about the change in plans."

Auror Lee waited for Madam Bones to leave, and then heaved a sigh into the empty room. Then, he pulled out his mirror to call Hermione. And afterwards, his son.

* * *

Notes:

This story is a puzzle. Some of the scenes might seem like one-off humor anecdotes, but most of it contains clues to help you solve the mystery. So...can you figure out the Secret of the Patronus?

Interdict of Merlin:

This is a rule that prevents powerful magic from being transferred through writing, and only allows it to be passed on through living minds. If a wizard wishes to learn ancient and powerful spells, he or she will have to either discover it themselves through research, or learn it from a powerful wizard. A lot of knowledge in the wizarding world is restricted to those who "need to know" for this reason.

Also, I know Auror Lee from Beauxbatons was originally Auror Li from Hogwarts, but I took a little artistic license. ;)


	4. The Bayesian Conspiracy

Chapter 4: The Bayesian Conspiracy

Harry glanced at his Auror mirror, only mildly disappointed when the message said, _I'll be fifteen minutes late._

He'd anticipated this, and even planned his meeting around it. He sent back his message, _Don't worry, come when you can._

He put away the mirror, and turned back to the classroom, where fourteen students with inquiring minds were waiting for him to speak.

"The first meeting of the year commences," Harry began. "Welcome to the Bayesian Conspiracy!"

* * *

Hermione's robes shuffled as she walked briskly to the meeting, trying desperately to smooth the mess of her tangled hair. It had taken her a lot longer than expected to break the hexes that some idiotic teenager had placed on the Lake of Hogwarts, even with two swipes of the Time-Turner. Hermione could have given herself another 30 minutes to get ready, but Madam Bones' scathing admonition about her misuse of the object still stung in her ears. She didn't want to give her any more reason to consider taking it away.

But it helped that she could move fast.

Hermione dashed down the hall to a rarely used corridor, ducking into a bathroom to clean the mud off her skirt and jacket. Then she raced up some stairs, spotting a set of double doors with a hand-written sign that said simply, "Science Club."

As Hermione got closer, she saw some new words forming on the sign, which she recognized as disappearing ink. It looked like notes from the club members.

 _Come in feeling confused, leave feeling even more confused!_

 _Don't worry, it's not a cult (probably)._

 _Come for the free stuff, stay for the science!_

 _Do you like feeling smarter than everyone else? If so, you're in the right place._

 _It's great if you like surveys._

 _Before BC, I had a life._

 _Wait, why do we have so many surveys?_

Hermione chuckled, wondering what Harry thought of this. She opened the double doors.

Inside, she found Harry Potter and his group ripping pages out of books.

He noticed her a moment later, and his face went pale. "Hermione! Uhh…this isn't what it looks like! There was a page in our physics books that was very _wrong_ , so we were just taking care of the problem."

"Oh…well…" said Hermione, her voice catching a little. "I suppose that's all right, then."

"Here, umm, take a seat anywhere you like," he said, gesturing to the empty chairs in the large classroom. The students were taking to the task with gusto, casting fire charms to send the pages up in flames. Hermione also noticed that most of the club members were boys.

Harry floated a book over to her, and she took it with her to a seat near the window. Dean Thomas, who sat next to her, gave her a smile. "Long time no see. Some of this stuff can be pretty esoteric, so let me know if you need help…oh wait, nevermind, you're Hermione."

She smiled. "It's nice to see you again, Dean. Now, which page are we ripping out again?"

Once the page ripping was completed, Harry recommenced with his physics lesson.

He briefly explained some concepts involving electricity and magnetism, and Hermione thought his explanation was clear and thorough, if a bit too rushed. He leaped over some magnetism concepts that should have been processed more slowly, with reference to diagrams. But when he asked for questions, Padma wanted more explanation, so he drew the diagram.

Harry then sent everyone off to solving some practice problems in the text. It felt strange, but Hermione decided to play along with Teacher Harry. She solved her problems quickly without any help, which was somewhat reassuring to her, since she hadn't picked up her maths books in at least a month. She was embarrassed to admit, but she hadn't even had time to read most of her _schoolbooks_.

Teacher Harry walked around the room, looking over everyone's work. When he passed Hermione, he said, "Well done," and put a sticker on her page. A sparkly rainbow unicorn. She made a face and glared at him, but his back was turned, already moving on to another student.

As everyone finished their practice problems, more students arrived. They took seats without bothering to grab a textbook, usually after raiding the snack table. Finally, as the clock struck 3:00, Harry wrapped up the lesson. He said, "Now, it's time for the Bayesian Conspiracy's goal: to crack open the secrets of magic using the scientific method. We have a few outstanding projects, so I'd like to allow their team captains to speak, updating us on any progress. Team Gameboy?"

Dean stood up, his face grave. "We've tried a few experiments, but most of them conclude that the device simply doesn't function in Hogwarts."

"Yeah," said Seamus Finnigan. "We brought it outside to test it, but the results were similar. It did turn on for a second when we brought it near the Hogwarts Lake."

"Well then, based on what we learned today," said Harry. "Is there a way we can look at this problem from another perspective?"

Padma raised her hand. "We just learned about how magnets can disrupt electricity, and that a large pulse of magnetism can theoretically take out the electrical generators of an entire city. Maybe magic is providing some interference to the electrical currents in the Gameboy?"

"That's a possibility," said Harry, leaning back against his desk. "How can we test that theory?"

"We could take the device to a rarely used section of the grounds," said Seamus. "We could leave our wands and all other magical devices in our rooms. Since we can use the Gameboy in Muggle areas—like a bus stop—I think it's safe to say that wizards aren't carrying enough magic inside them to disrupt the object."

"We could also test to see if magic is any way at all related to magnetism," said Dean. "Do you have any books I could borrow about magnets, Harry?"

"A few," he replied. "I'd be happy to lend them."

Chin resting on her hand, Hermione watched this exchange with amusement. She wondered if Harry had chosen the subject of this lesson on purpose to elicit this conversation. He was sneaky like that.

Harry's classroom tossed around a few more ideas before they moved on to another project: Padma's Extendable Ears. "It doesn't make sense to me that we can have spells that throw our voices, but that can't throw sound _towards_ us. I'm going to keep studying that spell, and the books on imbuing objects with magical attributes. I should have some progress on that by the end of next week."

"Thank you, Padma," said Harry. "If you need any help looking over the research, let me know."

"I think I'll be okay on my own, but thanks," she said.

Padma went back to whatever book she was reading. Hermione blinked. It was like looking at what Harry would be if he'd been born a girl.

One Ravenclaw boy went on and on about his project to update the prefect system so that _worthy_ people could be chosen, and Hermione could see Harry trying very, very hard not to snap. Finally, one of the other boys said, "This forum is for idea generating, not whining. Sod off."

Hermione noticed that the once half-empty room had started running out of seats, the number of students swelling to almost a hundred, with stragglers trickling in every second.

Suddenly, a sharp crack resounded as the Weasley twins made their entrance, their whiz bangs sputtering over the crowd. "Hello, friends of Hogwarts!" said the boys. "Do we have a deal for you!"

There was a good deal of cheering as the twins bowed, then hopped and somersaulted to the front of the room.

Hermione looked to Harry, confused as to why he hadn't said anything about their hijacking his meeting. He just stood there, arms clasped behind him, watching the scene unfold.

"As always, the same deal still stands," said George brightly. "If you give us ideas for things you want us to make, we'll let you test out some cool new stuff. Now, who wants to go first?"

Ten hands raised in the air. Fred called on one of them.

"How about a quieting charm that can be used against one person?"

"Already in production! It's called Zippy Lips. We'll bring it out for testing soon!"

The students cheered, and the Ravenclaw slumped into his chair, folding his arms.

George called on another student. "How about a magical object that will help you win a fight?"

"Yeah," said Michael Corner. "Especially against Slytherins. If you lose your wand in a fight against them, you better pray to Merlin you don't end up in St. Mungos afterwards."

"Interesting. What sort of object?" asked Fred.

"How about a machine gun?" suggested Blaise. "I don't understand why wizards don't use those. Six hundred rounds per minute is a win condition, period, not to mention it's child's play to enchant shield breaking bullets. It's like I'm the only person who thinks around here."

"Yeah!" said Seamus. "And what about explosives? You could design one that contains fire inside, and when it blows up—"

"Umm," Harry interjected. "Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes LLC does not deal in Muggle weapons."

"A lot of things can be weapons," said Blaise nonchalantly. "Hufflepuff bones can be weapons."

Hermione stifled a chuckle at Harry's insulted look. He really would never live that one down.

"Well, what about a Muggle _inspired_ weapon that is geared toward defence?" asked Dean. "Something that won't hurt them, but will give you a chance to escape if you lose your wand." Dean was rummaging around with some papers. "I heard about this thing called flash bangs that Muggle police use for crowd control. It sets off a really bright light and sound that disorients the enemy."

"Remember how Tonks was able to cast that spell that made the Hufflepuff almost drop his wand?" said Ernie MacMillan, who was the new Hufflepuff Prefect. "No one could hear anything, but I bet it was a spell that made a really loud noise."

"Hey, Padma," asked Dean, leaning back in his chair to look at the girl two rows behind him. "Could we put that spell in a magical object, do you think?"

She barely glanced up from her book. "Probably. Except you'd unleash the spell on yourself too, and then you'd both be in agony on the ground."

"Well, well," said Fred, stroking his chin. "This is a fascinating idea! While Harry's right, and we're not into dealing with weapons-"

"Or any sort of dangerous magics—" added George.

"We have no problem whatsoever with anything involving defence and pranks, no matter how mischievous. We'll give it a go. Next?"

A 7th year from Durmstrang raised his hand. "I'd like a portable swamp, please."

"And you want that because…?" said the Gryffindor sitting beside him.

The Durmstrang student shrugged. "For my pet alligator."

There was a moment of reverent silence. Hermione couldn't tell anymore if the Durmstrang students were just joking around, or if they really were that level of badass.

The Weasley twins called on a few more students, while Harry stood behind his desk, hands folded in front of him. He had mentioned in a letter to her that he'd partnered up with the Weasley twins, though she hadn't expected he would do it _quite_ like this.

Watching the three of them up there together, the comparison was like night and day. Harry's dark hair and neutral expression practically camouflaged him into the wall behind him, whereas the fire-haired twins lit up the room with their infectious energy and enthusiasm. Still, Hermione found her eyes drawn to Harry, wondering what he was thinking. The fourth or fifth time she did that, he caught her gaze. She looked away, her heart pounding like she'd gotten caught doing something illegal.

"Great ideas, everyone!" called one of the twins, probably George. "And now it's time for the goodies!" He dug his hands into the bag at his side, drawing out more boxes than it should have been big enough to hold. "Hands up if you want to be the first to try a Dungbomb!"

The boys tossed the items into the babbling crowd of students, who darted out of the seats and into the aisles. She wondered how the twins made a profit when they were giving their items away, even if it was only their test products.

A form suddenly appeared in front of Hermione, and she took a closer look. On it was a list of the Weasleys' products, along with a brief description and a moving picture of the product in action. Running beneath some of these items blinked little red warnings, "Only 5 left in stock!" "Back for a limited time!" Along the bottom ran a mysterious counter that was ticking down from 1000.

Hermione turned to examine the room, and noticed that many of the students were hunched over their desks, scribbling madly. The Weasleys' didn't have their own store yet, so it was like one of those Tupperware party things her mum hosted, where the only way to buy the product was if you were invited by a seller…

Hermione glanced at the ticking countdown. It was a time-tested rule in economics that when something seems scarce, you want it more. People also like owning things that make them feel like part of a club. Two of the sold out products were just clothing items with the Weasley logo on them. Hermione did a little mental math, calculating at maybe half a galleon an order (or about twenty-five pounds), times 100 students…

"Orders over 2 galleons get a limited edition t-shirt!" announced George. The students cheered and kept scribbling.

Hermione glanced over at Harry, who was checking his watch.

"Alright, boys and girls, time's up! Hand in your sheets in 3…2…1!"

The counter at the bottom of the page hit zero, and the sheets vanished in a puff of purple smoke. A girl in the back, probably a 3rd year, stood up, her hands on her hips.

"Excuse me, but you said we'd be getting a certain potion—"

"Next time, my dear!" George cast a quick glance at Harry. "At a soon to be disclosed location! For now, please keep your eyes and ears open for details about the next event, and as always, happy pranking!"

The twins left to the noise of thunderous applause, and then it was Harry alone. "Before you leave," he said. "Please fill out this short survey about your thoughts on the Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, and your interest in creating your own pranking materials."

A few students got trapped into completing the survey, and the rest ran off. Some of Harry Potter's students, the boys she'd known from her Quirrell's army days, stayed behind to chat. Hermione felt someone tapping her shoulder, and it was a 2nd year boy who shyly gave her a box of Weasley chocolates. Two seconds later, a group of 1st years attempted to drag her to the Ravenclaw common room.

"I'm sorry, but I can't heal your pet owl just by touching her," Hermione insisted. "Why don't you take her to Madam Pomfrey, or Professor Sprout?" Despite her protests, they kept following her around like ducklings until she promised to visit the owl.

It was a few minutes more before the last stragglers left, and Harry kept glancing over at Hermione, as if anxious she might disappear. Hermione felt a pang of guilt, since she hadn't made much time for him lately.

"So," asked Harry, turning to Hermione as the last of his friends left them. "What do you think?"

* * *

For once, Harry was anxious to see his friends off, and to finally be alone with Hermione. He needed to know her verdict.

But now that he'd asked the question, he could only wait impatiently for her answer. In his mind, her response vacillated between indignation, (You're making money off the students, Harry?) to condensation (A joke shop? Really? You could be doing so much better.) In the best case scenarios, it was mild approval, (At least you haven't left a smoking crater where Hogwarts should be.)

He didn't know why the Hermione in his mind was so pessimistic. It's not like he cared what anyone else at the school thought of his activities. Perhaps it was because, in the same amount of time, Hermione had achieved near god-tier celebrity status. If they were still rivals, he was losing.

Hermione stood by the window, framed by the gentle rays of the afternoon sun. Her fingers brushed against one of the desks as her gaze swept the room. He was struck again by how her simplest movements could be so graceful. In her letters, she still sounded like the same girl he'd known at Hogwarts, but Harry had read interviews where people raved she was an angel sent from Heaven. Perhaps they weren't exaggerating as much as he'd thought. Being near real life Hermione would take some getting used to.

"Well," said Hermione, with a quirk of a smile. "I'm impressed. You finally got yourself some minions."

It took Harry a second to figure out that she meant the Bayesian Conspiracy.

 _Ahh, so she was going with the unforeseen snarky response._

"Not minions," he said. " _Disciples_."

"Harry's disciples?" She let out a chuckle.

"Disciples of science," he corrected her. "Though I suppose the other appellation is acceptable."

She turned once more to survey the rows of desks, and then she said, her voice gentle, "Every week, you teach them something different? Is it just physics, or do you…?"

He took a step closer to join her near the window. "I try to vary my lessons. I find that teaching by theme is helpful. So, for example, I'll spend a few weeks teaching calculus, and then the next few weeks we learn physics lessons that make use of those principles. It seems the most effective, based on survey results."

Hermione glanced at him. "Do you like teaching?"

Harry shrugged. "I like passing on my knowledge, and it's nice to know it's useful. It bothered me that every wizard here was learning how to use magic, but didn't understand why it worked. It would be like teaching calculus without proofs. I want to help wizards to think critically and rationally. My lessons aren't what draws them in, though, but that they get to use the scientific method to create things. It's not much, I guess, but it's a start."

"A grassroots initiative," said Hermione, offering him a warm, bright smile. "That's amazing, Harry."

He blinked. "Well…it's not all that. It's nothing compared to some of the other things I did my first year." _Like destroying a dementor, for instance. And discovering immortality, somehow._

Hermione shook her head, still with that smile. "Yes, but that was with adults helping you, right? Like Dumbledore and Professor Quirrell, maybe McGonagall even. You had the cloak and the time turner, too. But even without that, you're still a teacher and an entrepreneur. That's not nothing, Harry. You earned that, all by yourself."

Harry was grateful she believed in him, and it actually did make him feel a little better. But it still wasn't enough to be complacent, not when he was faced with his own incompetence in the form of a notebook full of question marks where there should be answers.

He couldn't help but wonder what he would have achieved by now, if he had full possession of his memories and knowledge.

Harry empathized with people who suffered from brain injuries. He couldn't trust his own memory at all. On the night of Voldemort's demise, he remembered attending a Quidditch game, and then his scar was bleeding. He told everyone he saw Hermione rise from the dead, and that he saw Voldemort fall. The next few days were a blur of mourning for losing Quirrell, and concern for Draco and Hermione.

It had always felt wrong. Still, he might have believed this version of events if he hadn't received the letter. As preposterous as the letter was, and as many weird leaps of faith as it required him to make, it had felt right.

Hermione had something in her hand, and she was offering it to him.

"A chocolate?" said Harry.

"Because you had a bright idea, and it should be rewarded," said Hermione, flushing pink. "I mean…it's a little silly, but you did it for me once, so…"

"Ahh," he said, accepting the chocolate. "Why, so I did. Thank you, Hermione. By chance, do you carry Weasley chocolates around all the time?"

"No," Hermione sighed. "A 2nd year boy gave them to me. These sorts of occurrences are just part of my life now."

Harry slipped the chocolate into his pocket. He didn't think the potion had started making its rounds yet, but he would check to make sure.

"So," said Hermione, hopping onto his desk like she owned the place. "Do the Weasleys interrupt your meetings every week like that?"

"Not every week, just when we agree to it," said Harry. "And it's not really interrupting if they're the main reason people show up."

"Well…" she frowned. "Why don't you just have the twins come beforehand, so some of their crowd might stay for the meeting?"

Harry shook his head. "Not worth the trouble. Everyone's excited and unfocused, and I don't need them throwing stink bombs or eating canary tarts and whatnot during my lesson."

"I suppose that makes sense," responded Hermione, with a sympathetic smile. "So, why are you partnered with them? What's your goal?

Harry folded his arms. "I once thought I could think my way out of any situation, and it turns out that's not always the case. To solve my current problem, I need money. A lot of it."

"Err…" Hermione raised an eyebrow. "What sort of problem?"

" _The_ problem," They'd agreed not to directly discuss anything regarding immortality unless they'd taken sufficient precautions. Like, 32 secrecy charms level of precaution.

"Oh…right," said Hermione. "What are you planning to do with the money?"

"I intend to found my own space exploration company. I'll need to buy rockets, and those things aren't cheap. I'll have to pay my employees' salaries, not to mention fund my own R&D team. I imagine, if I'm dedicated enough in time management, I'll get there by the time I'm 30."

 _And I have until then,_ Harry thought, _to figure out why the heck everything magical blows up when I send it into space._

Hermione bit her lip to stifle a grin, but it was leaking out the corners of her mouth anyway. "What?" he asked.

"Sorry, I don't mean to laugh," she said. "It's just so _you_ , Harry. But, anyway, do you really think partnering with the twins will get you enough money? They sell products to wizard children, and well…it's a small market."

Harry nodded. "I realize that. It's just a first step, of course. But I've found a way to make it more lucrative than it would be normally."

"How?" asked Hermione.

In response, Harry led Hermione to the back of the classroom, where another door led to Harry's private office and research lab. Harry walked toward a nondescript area of the wall, waved his wand, and then turned back to Hermione. "Give me one minute, and then you can come in and I'll show you."

Harry stepped inside the closet, waved his wand again over the entrance to seal it. Then he pulled the chocolate out of his pocket and muttered an incantation over it. No Weasley potions detected. Great, now Harry could stop worrying that Hermione was about to develop an unhealthy fascination with a twelve year old boy. Those twins had better hand over the antidote this afternoon like they promised, or he was seriously going to withdraw his funding for the entire WonderWitch line. It's not like he'd wanted to be involved with love potions in the first place.

Harry briefly examined his storeroom, at the long wooden shelves, cupboards, and boxes that held over two years' worth of work. Ashwinder eggs, pearl dust, spellbooks and bubbling potions. It was a treasure trove of all manner of things you needed to cast and create spells and enchanted items. It was vaguely reminiscent of both the Potions classroom and the office of Dumbledore, and further proof to Harry that he was well on his way to becoming a mad wizard.

Looming to his left was one wall of Questionable Items, and Harry decided Hermione didn't need to see that. He still couldn't figure out what some of them did, but none of them looked innocuous, and Harry didn't need another lecture like the one he'd gotten from Neville. Most of them were from Slytherin quests, and Harry was fairly convinced by now that Salazar had to be the ultimate prankster.

Harry set an enchantment over the wall, and then popped his head out of the entrance. "You can come in now…Hermione?"

She was gone.

Harry stepped outside, and on a nearby table he saw a note.

 _Harry, I hope you're okay. I waited for 10 minutes and you still hadn't come out. I'm leaving to go get help._

Harry checked the clock on the wall and cursed. He'd been in there for over an hour, even though his watch read that only 2 minutes had passed.

 _I checked with McGonagall and the wards all say that you're safe and in full health. So, my best guess is that you've got some kind of time dilation magic going on, in which case you really ought to fix that. Anyway, see you later, I'm going to dinner. Please contact me and let me know you're safe._

Harry turned back slowly to his hidden storeroom, his blood running cold.

First thing tomorrow, he was moving his wall of Questionable Items.

* * *

Roger Davies, a 7th year Ravenclaw, sat among his friends at the dinner table, waiting as McGonagall caught the first name from the Triwizard cup and read it aloud.

"From Beauxbatons, Marguerite Valentine!"

The room thundered with applause, Roger joining in enthusiastically. He didn't know anything about her skills, but he was glad they chose the hot one.

"From Durmstrang, Boris Krum!"

The room thundered even louder, because everyone knew the Krum family was the best at Quidditch and everything else. Roger had seen Boris fight once against Neville, and the beast had almost wrecked the duelling room. He was a hothead, but effective.

The final name floated out of the red flames of the Goblet, and McGonagall caught it in the air. Obviously, it would be Cedric Diggory, the Super Hufflepuff and pride of his house. All the other contenders could just go home.

"From Hogwarts, Angelina Johnson!"

The Gryffindor table was in an uproar, and most of the Hufflepuffs were too stunned to join the moderate clapping from the other houses. Though he was surprised, Roger wasn't unhappy with this selection either. Angelica was a great Quidditch player and a fantastic duellist, and she wasn't hard on the eyes either.

The three champions came forward to stand beside McGonagall. Then, as if someone had cast a great quieting charm, the entire room went completely still. There was a sense in the air that something chaotic was about to happen. McGonagall glanced nervously at the Goblet of Fire. Roger looked at Harry, the most likely culprit. Harry was just sitting at the other end of the table, looking slightly bored.

The moment passed, and everyone breathed a sigh of relief. Roger smiled, shaking his head. Of course, nothing crazy would happen. That was _last_ year, and those days were behind them.

Once the champion selection was finished, Roger left for the duelling rooms. Quidditch was cancelled for the year, but that still left battle magics. He was going to battle against Dean Thomas today. They were almost evenly matched, but it was fun to fight him. Roger would have to watch out, though, since Dean was probably fired up due to Angelina's selection.

Someone rushed past him in the hall, knocking into him. For a second, Roger thought it was Harry, and he felt a rush of irritation. Then he realized it was a different dark haired boy with brown eyes.

"Sorry," the boy said, leaving before Roger could respond.

Roger kept walking, flexing his fingers at his sides. Roger didn't like Harry. He didn't have anything against him personally, but the Ravenclaw was annoying to duel with. He would counteract all your moves until you had literally nothing to do but fall right into his trap. And the whole time, you'd be under an unbreakable itching charm, so you couldn't stand still. He was so aggravating.

If experience told him anything, Roger knew that Harry was going to try to discover the secret to his perfect shield spell. Ha, well fat chance. He wouldn't even tell Neville or Cedric if they asked. One day, Roger was going to outsmart the Boy-Who-Lived, and then lord it over him until they graduated Hogwarts.

Roger entered the duelling room, and was shocked to see a black haired Ravenclaw girl sitting on a bench, reading a book.

"Cho Chang?"

He watched the most beautiful girl in all of Hogwarts stand up hastily, brushing a stray silken hair behind her ear as she said nervously, "Hi, Roger! Ahh, sorry, I know you were supposed to meet Dean, but he's busy setting up an impromptu Gryffindor party. Do you mind if we duel instead?"

 _She knows my name._ They were both Ravenclaws, but they hadn't spoken much, except that one time he kept trying to forget about. One day, when he was older, he wanted to marry Cho Chang and buy her all the books she wanted.

"Ahh…well," said Roger, trying to get his brain to work. "Sure, that's fine."

"Good," said Cho Chang, blessing him with her mysterious, kind smile. "I'm not really great at duelling, but I'd like to learn more. Maybe you can give me some pointers?"

* * *

Tonks sat on the ground with her legs crossed, surrounded by a flood of parchment.

"I thought I would hate grading, but this is actually an interesting study of the human mind."

Suddenly, Tonks burst out laughing.

"Look at this," laughed Tonks, as she pointed at one of the papers. "The question was, 'How do you tame a boggart?' and he wrote, 'Tasty snacks.'"

Hermione, who was working on her homework beside Tonks, leaned over to look at the paper, frowning. "But the answer was right there in bold at the beginning of chapter 3."

Tonks chuckled. "I don't know what it's like at Beauxbatons, but at Hogwarts we don't read our textbooks. There's no time due to all the other important things, like playing Exploding Snap and fawning over the Quidditch seekers. That's what my friends and I were doing, anyway."

Hermione tried to think back over her last few years. Aside from testing her powers over the summer, and a few hours on weekends, she'd spent the majority of her time studying. It suddenly occurred to her how odd that was.

Although, there was that summer she'd taken a dance class for two weeks. She held on to that, a sign she wasn't a complete nerd.

"Most kids are morons. You're the exception, of course," said Tonks, waving her hand. "And Cho Chang, maybe."

Hermione shrugged. "Well, I don't know, I think Harry is…"

"No, he's a moron too. All boys are morons until they turn thirty."

Hermione smiled. "Well, Tonks, not every boy below the age of thirty accidentally sets fire to their moustache while shaving—"

"Hey now—"

"-Or was surprised when he learned that Moon Pies _didn't_ come from the moon."

"Yes, I know I've dated some clunkers," grumbled Tonks. "Get back to your homework, you Puritan."

Things were silent for a moment, save for the scratching of quills. Those moments never lasted long, especially when the reading material was so interesting.

"Huh," said Tonks thoughtfully. "This student answered, 'I don't know.' I wonder if I should give points for honesty. Aww, this one drew a picture of a dragon AND a dinosaur. In colour! Which must be why he didn't have time to answer the last 5 problems."

Hermione laughed. Tonks' energy was infectious, and spending time with her didn't drain her like it did with most people. Maybe it was because Tonks didn't mind letting Hermione be her boring self, sitting here doing homework. Tonks could talk enough for the both of them.

"Oh look, the first student to score above a 60…and, of course it's Neville. He's a sweetheart. You should date him."

"Tonks…"

"Oh, come on, he's a catch!" said Tonks, elbowing her. "He's tall, he's a gentleman, and he comes from a noble house."

Hermione lay down on her stomach, propping her head in her hands, her homework abandoned. "He's too sweet for me."

"That doesn't even make sense. I would just love a sweet, mysterious guy to come and sweep me off my feet. Maybe with a tortured past…" Tonks squealed a little, her hands scrunching under her chin.

"Why do girls always have to talk about guys when they get together?" asked Hermione.

"Because it's fun," said Tonks, glancing over another paper. "Ahh, 59%...so close. I guess I'll be nice and round up."

Hermione and Tonks lapsed into silence, and Hermione stared at the ground, a question growing in her mind like a shadow. She bit her lip, trying to decide if this was the right time.

"Tonks," said Hermione finally. "What are the Auror tests?"

Tonks sighed and set the paper down, rubbing her forehead. Hermione only got more anxious the longer Tonks didn't answer. "Madam Bones told me about them," said Hermione. "But she didn't explain what they were. She said I should go through them soon."

"Of course she said that," said Tonks bitterly. "The woman doesn't know right from left."

"But, doesn't everyone go through them? I should do it, then, sooner rather than later."

Tonks shook her head. "You don't just go through them, Hermione, it…changes you. You have to make choices you never thought you'd make. It tries to break you, and then have to pick up the pieces of what's left over afterwards."

"But, isn't it just a simulation?" asked Hermione, her voice trembling. "Surely, it can't be that bad."

Tonks shrugged. "It's different for everyone. All I know is, it's not something you run into headlong. For now, I suggest you put it out of your thoughts. You won't be going through it anytime soon, no matter what Madam Bones thinks."

Hermione nodded, but the shadow in her mind remained.

* * *

Notes:

Comments and reviews make me happy. :)

Hufflepuff Bones:

Harry played a game in Defence class where he listed ten unusual objects in the room for combat. Among his many disturbing suggestions, he said he could sharpen Hufflepuff bones into weapons. And no one ever lets him forget it.

Giving Chocolates:

One time, when Hermione was sad and avoiding Harry, he came to her with chocolates and said he'd give her one to associate him with positive things. Then he gave her another when she had a creative idea, in an attempt to encourage her. That's the reason Hermione decides to give him a chocolate here. :)


	5. The Art of Seduction, A Veela's Guide

Chapter 5: The Art of Seduction, a Veela's Guide

Marguerite strode along the corridor, running her fingers through her long chocolate brown hair, teasing it just a little. Normally, she would pull it back into Beauxbaton's signature bun, but today she thought the free waves would suit the image she was going for. Her makeup was usually minimal, though today she applied even less than normal. She did a brief final check in her mirror, then tapped gently against the coils of a stray curl, pressing it into place.

Marguerite Valentine's mother had taught her that, while Hunting, there were three things you needed to consider. The first was your prey's level of renown, and the second was the Galleons in his bank account.

And in that regard, there was only one person in all of Hogwarts that she ought to aim for.

A pair of Gryffindor boys passed her in the hallway. One of them immediately turned his gaze to her, eyes wide, full of fear and longing, as if afraid of what her beauty might do to him. The other boy shot her a nasty glare.

Of course, there was always the _third_ thing to consider, and on that point, she was undecided. However, it would all be clear as soon as she made her move. She'd been watching him carefully since arriving at the school, and if her calculations were correct, she would have him eating out of her palm by, oh, say half past noon.

Some would call her evil, a maneater of sorts. Well, they didn't understand the cultural importance of the fine art of seduction. One could spend years at the craft, and still be a beginner. She was a Veela, and like it or not, this was her way of life.

Marguerite found the door she was looking for, and she stood outside, squaring her shoulders. Once more, she practiced the perfect smile for the occasion: awkward, nervous, with just a little blushing. She rarely needed to do this much prep work. It was nice to have a challenge every once in a while.

She raised her fist and knocked three quick, yet gentle raps. About three seconds later, Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, answered, "The door's open."

Marguerite pushed open the door, glancing around at all the things in the room, before her eyes finally settled on Harry Potter. He was sitting at the desk, four books open beside him, with a quill writing furiously on a yellow notepad.

"Oh, excuse me," she said. "I'm so sorry if I'm disturbing your work. I can come back later?"

She let the question hang in the air, while Harry motioned for the quill to stop writing.

"Err…it's fine." He slowly stood up from the desk. "What do you want?"

She smiled, and said, "Well, I heard that there was a scientist group here, and that you had a very large library. And, well, I got curious. I've loved reading since I was little, but I've never read a science book before. Do you mind showing me a few that might be easy to start with?"

Harry cleared his throat, and then motioned with his hand. "Of course, anyone who loves reading is welcome here. Come this way."

Marguerite followed just a step behind him, making sure not to crowd into his space. Meanwhile, she took a moment to collect information about her prey.

 _Movement is quick and a bit jerky—very skinny, high metabolism, possible neuroses or sleep disorders._ He reached the back of the room, his eyes scanning the bookshelf. _The room is undecorated, though well used, and combined with his extreme focus and lack of concern for surroundings…oh, his sensing side is low, alright. Which could either make him impervious to touch, or weak to it._

 _Also, he can spot manipulation from a mile away. At least…he thinks he can._

Scanning the bookshelf, Harry pulled off an unassuming paperback volume, handing it to her.

In her mind, she was wrinkling her nose at how Muggle this book seemed. No moving pictures, not even a hard leather cover. They could have at leastembellished it with a little gold leaf. But that reaction wouldn't do.

She accepted the book with grace, and then leafed through it, scanning the table of contents.

"Who's Stephen Hawking?" she asked. "I've never heard of him."

"He's a very famous Muggle scientist," said Harry, who had turned his attention back to the bookshelf. "His book is a good start, and you can learn a lot from him. Here's another book by Richard Feynman that's on the lighter side. And since you're just getting started, you have to look at Charles Darwin's book _On Evolution_." He dropped another book in her hands. "But, hang on, I need to give you some books on some more evolved psychology, and uggh, let's just ignore Freud."

Marguerite stared at the growing, heavy pile in her arms _. Lack of observance of surroundings x2. Also, lack of empathy._

She let out a chuckle. "Wow, you have so many science books. Did you read them all?"

"Most of them," said Harry. "Unless it was a copy, or something annoying, like Thomas Edison's biography."

"Do you think this is enough to start with?" she asked, with curious uncertainty. "It'll probably take me a while to read these."

He dropped about 10 more books onto the table. "If you read all 15, you'll have a good foundation in the sciences. There's something for physics, chemistry, philosophy, social science, rational thinking, and the scientific method."

"Wow, science contains so many disciplines," she said, tapping her chin. "It's like how we have charms, potions, transfiguration, divination, and each is a little different. But in the end, it's all magic."

Harry nodded, his chin jerking up and down. "I suppose you could say that. Though science has its place in all realms of the world, including magic."

"Oh, it does," she said, setting down her pile of books. "Wizards are well versed in Aristotle, and we're just getting into Newton. We're 800 years behind, I'm afraid, but these books will help with that."

She let her finger trail against the books, glancing at the covers as she watched Harry from the corner of her eye. She still couldn't quite be sure about number 3, but he hadn't kicked her out yet, or said any nasty, biting remarks. That was a good sign.

From her research into the academic journals (and, of course, the AoS), she knew that intellectuals tended to be 25% more likely than Quidditch seekers to fall madly in love on the first attempt, but a good 15% of those required exceptional methods to achieve this goal. It was time to kick it up a notch.

She cracked open the first book, as if to read it. She paused for about 20 seconds, scanning the page for a big word. "It's interesting," she said. "But, I'm sorry, English isn't my native language. What does this word mean?"

She came to stand closer to Harry, leaning just barely against his shoulder.

"Zeitgeist is a German word that means, 'Spirit of the times.'"

"Ahh," said Marguerite, edging a bit closer, "And this word?"

Harry glanced at it, then turned away. "Agape. That's Latin for a specific type of love that asks for nothing in return."

"Ahh, I have heard of this," said Marguerite, her voice hinting at warmth. "There are many kinds of love, like for family and friends, and then there's Eros…" She gave those words just a touch of suggestion, then turned back to the book. _Well, that didn't work. Rethink, come on, what are you missing?_ She spied a Rubik's cube on the table, and suddenly all the clues came together.

 _Be a fun, challenging puzzle he has to solve._

But how? Well…there was one thing she'd read in section H3 of the AoS she could try...

Marguerite flipped a page. "I think these books will teach me a lot of interesting things, but…" She laughed self-consciously. "I can't believe I was so nervous to visit you!"

"Nervous?" He studied her. "Why?"

"Well, I heard things about you Harry…that you're smart, and your science is esoteric, but…" She risked a coy smile. "This was easy."

He paused, unmoving for several seconds, and then he coughed, turning away. "Well, there's more where that came from, if you want a challenge."

 _Gotcha._ She smiled. "Yes, I do appreciate those. Maybe if I study all these books, I'll even be smart enough to join your science group."

"So, umm…about that," said Harry. "How will you have the time? Aren't you supposed to be preparing for the Triwizard Tournament?"

She shrugged, allowing a flirtatious smile, letting her glamour go into full effect. "I feel like learning science can only help my chances, if you don't mind teaching your school's rival."

She risked another coy glance into his eyes and was shocked to see a stony glare. He didn't just look suspicious, he looked…like an angry dark wizard. It was so cutting and cold that she almost shivered.

"Ahh…I'm sorry if I said something to offend you," she said, in her most innocent voice, laced with fear. Usually, this drove men to their knees trying to comfort her.

"You didn't," Harry said, and then turned back to gather the books. "The next meeting is on Friday at 3:00. Have you a pouch or something to carry these books?"

Irritation coursed through Marguerite's veins. So, this was it then? All that prep work, all that studying and effort, and he was just going to send her off without even one declaration of eternal love? She ought to just go fully into her angry Veela side _and let him have it_.

But she did have one more trick. It might be cheating, but she didn't care. She was going to get a reaction from him, no matter what.

"I must give you something in return," she said, pulling a small bottle from her blue silk sachet, and pouring the contents into a tiny silver cup. "My school is known for many things, including restorative draughts. Have you heard of the Ambrosia of Beauxbatons?"

"I've heard rumours," he said, accepting the proffered drink like it was made of fiendfyre.

Marguerite laughed. "Don't be nervous, it won't hurt you. The Ambrosia is known for its healing qualities, as well as giving a boost of energy and wisdom. I noticed you were working here alone, so please, accept this gift to refresh your strength." She poured her own glass and raised it. "To a new adventure in science."

She downed her cup, and watched Harry lift his own to his lips. He drained it and returned it to her.

"Why...thank you, I do feel better," he said, raising a palm to his chest. "In fact, I feel…something wonderful. What exactly did you…?"

She smiled slowly, adopting the stance of a queen surveying a submissive peon.

He rushed past her, and crashed into the books on the table. "Oh, science, my one true love! How can I sing your praises! Look, Marguerite, isn't it just beautiful?"

"Umm…what?"

"Ahh, would you just look at these words!" He flipped the pages with manic energy. "So honest, and yet so poignantly beautiful! Oh naked truth, how can you be so lovely and fragrant!" He pressed his nose to the book, closed his eyes, and inhaled deeply.

Marguerite's face screwed up in disgust and confusion. Okay, so…her potion shouldn't have worked on an inanimate object. More to the point, it shouldn't have worked on something which couldn't give him the potion in the first place. She could chalk it up to potion malfunction, but her Amorentia was of premiere Parisian quality. That left only one option.

Marguerite's hand rested on the table, steadying herself against the magnitude of her failure, and her little finger just barely touching the Stephen Hawking book. Harry scrambled over to her and said, "Marguerite, I do say, your ardent interest in this particular science book is doing unmentionable things to me. I…dare I ask…shall we engage in a ménage à trois?" He came closer, whispering desperately. "It'll be just you, me and the old men of science."

Marguerite screeched, balled up her fists, and punched Harry Potter.

* * *

Romilda Vane couldn't help feeling a bit proud for knowing Marguerite would be rejected, even though, in retrospect, it wasn't that hard to figure out. It was Harry Potter, after all.

"He's crazy!" Marguerite lamented, banging her forehead against the Gryffindor common room table.

"I told you," said Ginny Weasley, hands on her hips. "At least when you offered to learn about science, he didn't port key you off to the North Pole and force you to do transfiguration experiments. Only to drag you to the jungle for the same thing, where it was _dark_ and there were _noises_." Ginny shivered.

Romilda was watching the two of them, shaking her head. "And _I_ told you both that you should be aiming higher. The only one who should be trying to romance a 5th year is a 2nd year. At our age, it's 7th year or nothing."

"Or how about, just someone who doesn't publicly proclaim every year that Quidditch is stupid?" suggested Ginny. "It's like he has nothing better to do than look down on everyone else. But we're not the ones causing chaos!"

"Exactly," said Romilda. "Don't worry, Marguerite. There are plenty of men out there who are more agreeable and have deeper wallets than the Virgin of Hogwarts."

"Virgins normally like me," muttered Marguerite. "How did I get him so wrong? I was sweet, intelligent, I pretended I liked science…" She banged her fist on the table. "And how did he detect my potion? It is much higher quality than that Zonkos drivel."

Dean Thomas entered the common room, towelling off his hair from a shower. His eyes slid over to observe them, a small frown of disapproval forming.

"Don't expect reason from General Chaos," said Romilda. "His logic system is some made-up thing that only he understands."

"Basically," said Ginny. "He's a complete loon."

Glancing over, Romilda saw Dean's face resolving into Righteous Disapproval. 3…2…1…

Dean sighed. "Why do you girls always have to be so hard on him? He's weird sometimes, but his heart's in the right place. And Ginny, you knew Harry was recruiting volunteers for his transcontinental experiments. You shouldn't complain, since he did give you a twelve page full disclosure agreement."

"I was 12! I didn't know what was going on!"

Dean shrugged. "Well, from now on, just don't work with him. All I know is, he didn't mean to hurt you."

Ginny folded her arms. "Whatever."

Romilda was feeling a bit irritated for Ginny's sake. Just because Harry didn't mean to hurt Ginny, doesn't mean that he wasn't responsible. Of course, Romilda also knew that Ginny used to have a huge thing for Harry, which may or may not be the reason she still wanted to be angry.

"And as for whatever happened between you and Harry, Marguerite," said Dean, with a heavy sigh. "All I can say is, you would have been better off just joining Harry's research group. I know you like math, and you're smarter than you let on."

"That's…true," said Marguerite, heaving a sigh. "But it's impossible! If I join the group, no one would get any work done."

There was a moment of silence as everyone realized that, considering the gender make up of his group, this was probably true.

"Well, I'd still work with you," said Dean, pulling up a chair beside her, his towel draped around his neck.

"I don't know…" said Marguerite uncertainly.

"Come on," he said, with a smile. "Isn't there some magical item you'd like to make for yourself?"

"Ha! Easy question." Marguerite beamed, leaning close. "We make a Philosopher's Stone so we can transfigure all the money we want. Then, we use it to pay other people to do our research for us!"

* * *

When Marguerite left the room, Harry stood in silence, the invisible ambrosia dampening his robes. Then as he cleaned his robes, re-shelved the books and treated his black eye, he contemplated his brush with utter destruction, trying to figure out why he wasn't feeling as enraged as he'd expected.

Harry had heard about Marguerite's Veela abilities, but he'd dismissed them as being a non-issue. Based on his observations, her powers only affected those who regularly drooled over hot girls. Admittedly, that was most boys in his year. In Harry's case, most of the popular girls had as much ability to charm him as an ingrown toenail. Even if they were beautiful, they were too vapid to hold his interest for long.

And yet, in spite of all that, Marguerite had emotionally impaled him. She had seemed kind, intelligent and most damaging of all, _curious_. He couldn't defend against that; it was a rationalist's Kryptonite. So when she'd tried to get close, he'd had to slam the door against his instincts. No way he would rush headlong into something he hadn't obsessively analysed. Still, if Harry was honest with himself, he probably would have spent the afternoon scrutinizing every aspect of their meeting (in layman's terms, daydreaming), if she hadn't shattered the illusion by offering him tainted ambrosia.

Harry felt he should be angry, that he was entitled to storm off and complain about his brush with doom, but the emotions weren't quite lining up to his expectations.

 _What is this?_ muttered Gryffindor. _We should be furious at this treatment._

 _Indeed, it was horrible,_ said his Inner Critic. _But I've suspended the anger mechanisms because I think we're about to happen upon an important realization._

Harry pondered this, feeling increasingly uncomfortable the longer he came up empty.

 _I really hope you're not trying to imply that beautiful women are untrustworthy._

 _Ha. No. Think harder._

 _I am, but all I can think is that there is a special place in hell for people who manipulate people emotionally…_ Harry paused. _Crap. I do that too, don't I?_

 _Yes,_ sighed his Inner Critic. _You do._

Harry wanted to ignore this revelation, but he was aware that people were often annoyed by the flaws in others that reflect their own worst traits. And he had to admit, being manipulated and feeling out of control was not fun. He could now understand why certain students had yelled at him during the fallout of his schemes. Oh sure, he could say he'd done it for their own good, or because it was necessary to fulfill a plan, and that would probably be correct. Still, it said something disconcerting about his character that he'd never considered their feelings as valid data, except now that his own tactics had been used against him.

The realization was sobering. All things considered, he probably deserved everything that happened to him, including the monstrous black eye that was blooming under his ice pack.

 _First things first,_ declared Hufflepuff. _We should apologize to everyone we've hurt._

 _Are you kidding?_ said Ravenclaw. _We're terrible at apologies. We'll make everything worse somehow, especially since most of them still aren't aware they were manipulated._ Slytherin nodded along silently. _There's got to be another way to fix this._

 _Well…_ said Gryffindor. _Why don't we, oh I don't know, stop manipulating people?_

 _Now, hold on_ , interrupted Slytherin. _We can't just put a blanket ban on one of the fundamental aspects of plotting. Our mission involves a certain amount of delicate strategy, and sometimes those strategies require the aid of others. It's not like we manipulate situations in order to hurt people. But sometimes we need them to help us and not know they're doing it."_

 _Rationalization, blah blah,_ said Gryffindor _. By the way, do you know who else manipulates a lot?_ _Dark Wizards._

 _You know what, let's do things the Gryffindor way,_ countered Slytherin. _Every time we encounter a problem, we'll ride off on a rocket or punch someone in the jaw. Now, if we're all in agreement this is a terrible idea, why don't you all just relax and trust me to know what I'm doing?_

 _Err…Gryffindor's got a point,_ said Ravenclaw. _I'm not against plotting as a rule, but I'm noticing that we default into manipulation, even when we don't need to._

 _Correct,_ said Harry's System Administrator. _There's a flaw in our system checking abilities. Fix it before I have a major meltdown._

Harry winced. The last time that happened, he was stuck in the library for hours, researching the likelihood of plant sentience.

 _Wait, I think I've got it,_ said Hufflepuff. _What if we just make a promise to ask Hermione before we do anything that triggers our, "Maybe I'm acting like a Dark Lord" alarm?_

Harry paused, considering the idea with trepidation.

 _Do we have to?_ asked Slytherin. _It sounds like babysitting._

 _Yes,_ said Ravenclaw. _And don't pretend like you didn't just imagine Hermione's reaction to our last escapade. We need oversight._

 _Fine,_ sighed Slytherin. _We'll abide by her counsel for now, until our system checking abilities are back in order._

 _Right,_ said Ravenclaw. _And until we're good at apologizing, how about we just agree to feel really sorry and try not to manipulate too much?_

 _Good luck with that,_ muttered Gryffindor.

* * *

Extra scene: What Happened in Year 4, Really

Harry woke up to a strange feeling. It was going to be one of _those_ days, he could already tell. He sat up, and examined the note hanging off his bed.

 _As a reward for completing the last quest, you unlocked the bonus round! You are stuck in a ROMANCE. Congratulations!_

Harry groaned. He did not want to spend his Sunday morning on a dating game, he had work to do. Still, he had long since learned to stop fighting the insanity of this year. "Who are my romance options?"

The note morphed into a list, each name including a moving picture. Hermione, Luna, Neville, Blaise…eww.

Harry blinked in shock. " _Professor Quirrell?_ "

"You can call me Tom," the moving picture said with a wink.

Harry gaped at this blatant sacrilege.

"Come now, boy, don't be bashful," said Professor Quirrell. "What happens in 4th year stays in 4th year. Now, if you'll just come down to the Dungeons, I'll show you the true Secret of Slytherin—"

Harry ripped the paper, burned it, and tossed it on the ground.

"Whelp, that does it. Today's a wash, I'm going back to bed."

* * *

Author's Notes (that kinda don't belong in this chapter, but the word count is short, so whatever):

Hermione's Powers and What Really Happened to Voldemort:

The ending to Methods of Rationality explains how Hermione gained her powers. It's not explicitly stated in this text how it happened, so I'll just spell it out for new readers. Major spoilers for the ending of HPMOR:

After Hermione was murdered by Voldemort's troll, Harry took her body and preserved it. Voldemort later used dark rituals to give her body super powers, made her immortal AND created a horcrux for her. The reason? He wanted her to stay alive to keep Harry from destroying the world. Harry then went on to kill 36 death eaters and imprison Voldemort in a transfigured ring. #justdarklordthings

Before Voldemort's defeat, Harry was forced to take a vow not to destroy the world, which included a provision that he discuss all of his potentially reckless plans with Hermione. This is somewhat alluded to in this chapter, though that part of the vow always made me squirm.

I'm not making any promises for if/how I'll change events for this story, but you should know how they occurred in the last one.

And in case you're confused about Quirrell's identity, he's Voldemort. The Dark Lord masqueraded as Professor Quirrell for an entire year, became Harry's mentor, and convinced Harry that he wasn't evil right until the point he drew a gun on him.


	6. Of Lakes and Princes

Chapter 6: Of Lakes and Princes

"Don't worry, Neville," said Harry. "I've done this plenty of times and there's never been a problem. And even if there were, I've prepared failsafes for every possible contingency. You're as safe as if you were in your own bed."

This might be more comforting, if they weren't hovering on a broomstick several kilometres above the ocean.

The sun was bright in the cloudless sky, but it was still so cold that even with the _Thermos_ charm, Neville's fingers felt frozen. Every so often, the wind would pick up and rock the broom slightly, and he was reminded of the fact that at this height, Feather-Fall potion would just mean the dent you made in the Earth was slightly smaller.

"Umm…." said Neville. "I'm not sure I can move my hands."

Harry recast the _Thermos_ charm on his hands, and now they were warmer, but still latched to the broom.

"All you have to do," said Harry. "Is take your hands off the broom—don't worry, you can't fall off—and cast the transfiguration. Then we'll go."

Harry had warned him of all these things before they went up into the air, but the danger back then hadn't been real. Kind of like when you say you'd eat a slug for 100 quid, and only realize your mistake when your friend is dangling a slug over your dinner plate. Neville knew that wizards never flew this high, and that there was a good reason. And yet here they were, because Harry had said it was absolutely necessary for his experiment that they complete it on a broom at 6 km above sea level.

Neville could just tell Harry he wanted to go home, and he knew Harry would take him down right away. Still, Neville couldn't do that. He had agreed to help, and he couldn't back down without being disloyal and a sort of crappy friend. Harry had helped him with his final project last year, after all, and he'd agreed to "owe him one."

Neville took a deep breath and steeled himself. He called on his Gryffindor side to come out. There was no reason a Hufflepuff had to shrink into the shadows. Adventure was calling, and it was time to be brave.

"Alright…I'm doing it," said Neville, taking his left hand off the broom handle, and reaching into his pocket. He pulled out a small metal ball, no bigger than a marble. Then, like ripping off a band-aid, he yanked his other hand off the handle.

In that moment of "look Mom, no hands," Neville felt a rush of adrenaline.

 _Oh, good we didn't die yet. See, we can do this. Just don't think about where you are. DON'T THINK ABOUT IT. Oh god, my grandmother has no one but me, and if I die she'll never find my body…_

With trembling fingers, Neville pulled his wand from his pocket, then completely blanked. He knew he was supposed to do a simple spell, something he could normally complete within 10 seconds. His breath came out in rapid pants, and his thoughts couldn't coalesce on anything aside from _DANGER_ and _NOW WE PANIC_.

Harry tightened his hold on Neville's shoulders. He was already attached by something called super glue and duct tape, but it still made Neville free a little more grounded. "It's okay," said Harry. "You can do it."

Neville nodded, and slowly the confusing moment passed. He pressed his wand to the ball, focusing on the form of glass that it was supposed to take. He didn't know how long he sat there, but when he finished, and passed the ball back, there was perspiration freezing against his temples.

"You did it, Neville!" said Harry. "Well done!" He clicked something, and then applied a sticker to the ball, placing it in his pocket. "Alright, now we—"

And that was the last thing Neville heard, due to the screeching wind that suddenly wailed in his ears. The temperature dropped so fast that Neville felt as if his eyelids had frozen.

The broom jerked right, wheeling them around like a pinwheel, and then began to fall.

Harry grabbed Neville by the waist, and Neville screamed. There were 10 seconds, or perhaps 2 hours, of total freefall and wild panic and final thoughts flashing before his eyes. Then, the green of Hogwarts trees flashed past his eyes, and he felt a jerk on his abdomen as the Feather-Fall potion slowed his momentum. In awkward slow motion, Neville, Harry and the broom landed with an anticlimactic plop into the Hogwarts lake.

As Neville and Harry flew the soggy broom out of the lake and onto land, Neville was reminded of why he hadn't joined Harry's science group. He was brave enough to do science every once in a while, but not crazy enough to do it every week. Or, at least, not Harry's brand of science.

"So, I kinda feel bad, but uhh, at least the failsafes worked," Harry babbled, as he unstuck them from the broom and each other. "If it makes you feel better, the experiment gave me a lot of useful data. So your suffering wasn't in vain."

Neville said nothing. His grandmother had told him if you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all.

Harry's eyes flicked up to Neville's, and he got the sense that the growing silence was making Harry even more nervous.

"And also," said Harry. "If it makes you feel better, you are free to punch me in the other eye once I get us off the broom."

After a few more seconds, Neville was free of the tape and glue. Harry held the broom and took a step backward, his face guilty but resigned.

Neville sighed. "I'm not going to punch you."

"Oh…alright," said Harry. "Would you rather…umm…throw your shoe at me, perhaps? It's the ultimate sign of disrespect in some Arab countries. Or you could just spit on me, which is a sign of disrespect in all cultures." Harry wrinkled his nose. "I don't prefer that idea, but it's acceptable if it's the only way to repair the damage."

Neville shook his head. "Listen, I don't blame you. You warned me of the risks beforehand, and I still accepted. But I'm wet, and I'm cold, and I don't quite feel like talking to you right now. So, unless you're going to explain what we were doing up there, I'm going inside."

Neville waited for a moment, but Harry shook his head. "I'm sorry, Neville, but…it's like I told you before, I can't tell anyone the reason why I'm doing these experiments. It must remain a secret until the time is right to reveal it."

Neville sighed. "Goodbye, Harry."

He had walked a few paced away when Harry called out, "Wait, Neville." He turned to look at Harry, whose jaw was working, his eyes hard. "I can't tell you everything, but I will say this. I think the reason why we started to fall was because the magic in the broom was disrupted. I've never seen this happen at any height lower than 24,000 feet, and we were only at 20,000. Please use caution when flying at high altitudes."

Neville raised his eyebrows. That would explain why wizards never travelled up that high, by broomstick or otherwise.

"So," said Neville slowly. "Why did you have me transfigure that ball three times?" The other two times had been by the sea shore and another at about as high as a sparrow flies. Neville figured he must be testing the strength of transfigurations…

"Oh," said Neville, realization dawning over him. "You wouldn't, by any chance, be looking for the Source of Magic?"

Harry was quiet for a long moment. "Maybe. Do you know anything about it?"

Neville shook his head. "There's lots of legends, and many wizards have searched for it. Some people say it's at the centre of the Earth, and some claim that it's in a cave at the bottom of the sea. They call it the fool's quest, Harry, because there is no Source of Magic. It's in the trees and Earth and air that surrounds us. That's why magic won't work so high off the ground."

"So I've read, many times over," said Harry, shrugging his shoulders. "Still, no one's ever empirically tested the claim, so I can't abandon the idea without giving it my best try."

Neville felt sorry for him. He was the most ambitious person Neville had ever met, but he always had to chase after the most ridiculous goals. If Neville had Harry's brains, he would do something more practical, like developing magical cures for diseases. Such as, Cruciatus induced insanity.

"Well, now that you've figured it out," said Harry briskly. "That means you are no longer an unbiased observer, and you most likely can't be involved with any more experiments related to this endeavour. I don't suppose there's any chance you'd be willing to memory charm away the information?"

Neville gave him a pointed look. "Harry, I might be a loyal Hufflepuff, but I'm not stupid. No more experiments for me, thanks."

* * *

After Neville left, Harry dried off the broom and placed it back in his pouch. He set his wand to dry his own robes, and then his Hufflepuff side ripped on him about the need for atonement, etcetera, but he ignored it. Just because his friend almost died didn't mean he had to risk contracting pneumonia.

With everything in order, he took a walk around the Hogwarts Lake. Sometimes physical activity could get the gears working in his brain, especially when he was feeling particularly frazzled in the thinking department.

Harry pulled the transfigured balls from his pocket. Transfiguration was a relatively simple way to test the quality of a magic spell. If the transfiguration held for a long time, that meant the magic that formed it was strong. If it faded quickly, that meant it was weak.

Harry examined them. They had all turned back to their original form, of course. Harry didn't know if they'd all de-transfigured at the exact moment that the magic had failed, since he had been too busy trying not to die to check. Fortunately, the magic on the portkey and the Feather-Fall potion had been more resilient, and he'd been able to use both once they'd descended far enough back into the atmosphere.

It had not been part of the plan to put his friend's life in danger, but he had learned something valuable. The area above the Earth's surface at which magic failed was not entirely consistent. There was a range, and he suspected he'd just found one of the lower levels.

It had _especially_ not been part of his plan to reveal to Neville he was looking for the Source of Magic. He'd considered Obliviating him, but Harry still felt guilty for doing that to him (along with the entire Hufflepuff common room) last year. Harry knew he needed to think of a better way to handle his own mistakes, and besides, he suspected he was being overly cautious about this particular secret. Neville was loyal enough not to tell anyone about his "fool's quest" for the Source of Magic.

All the same, Harry was thinking if there were such a thing as a Source of Magic as described in fantasy books, then his task would be much simpler.

If magic flowed from the Earth like a fountain, why, he would just have to scoop it up and take some with him into space. If it were dependent on the presence of biological materials, then he should just take an armful of plants with him and presto, magic would function. If there were a key, or an artefact, then he could extract it and take it with him.

The magical fountain idea was silly, though, since his experiments had shown that magic seemed to work just as effectively at any point on the Earth's surface. It was also unlikely to be biological matter, since the entire solar system was made of the same basic elements as Earth. Just being "organic" made as little difference to its intrinsic qualities as gold in nugget versus brick form. The only theory that could possibly be true was the Source of Magic being in the Earth's centre, but he'd need more than speculation before he started drilling.

Still, he'd painstakingly tested all the theories, just to make sure he wasn't missing something. Cognitive bias was a thing Harry was known to run away with every once in a while.

He was beginning to come up with his own theory—this was a problem that humanity had faced once before.

Electrical power existed within the Earth from time immemorial. Scientists observed it in lightning strikes and little static jolts. Yet the power was not easily accessible, and so for centuries people made due with fire. It was only in the 1800s that some enterprising person had created an electromagnetic generator, and someone else, a lightbulb, and then several others improved upon it so that it stopped blowing up after a couple minutes. Thomas Edison's direct currents and Tesla's alternating currents had revolutionized the system, and, city block by city block, they lit up the dark sky and changed the world forever.

Harry had a hunch that magic worked the same way. The magic in space was there, but it wasn't structured for spellcasting. A spell would either fail to work, or it would blow up in your face. If Harry was going to make it to the stars, his first and most important task was to find out how to make magic function in space.

The problem Harry was facing was that it wasn't something he could do alone. Well, he could try but…come on, he was trying to set up a magic network _in space_. That had to be a two person job, at least. Most great discoveries were made by teams of scientists working together.

But who did Harry have? A bunch of high schoolers, whose training in rational thinking consisted of a twenty minute science lesson from McGonagall at the end of transfiguration. Even Harry's own science group still struggled with calculus. Aside from acting as test subjects, most of them were little help. There were a couple students, like Padma and Dean Thomas, who were making great strides, but Harry was still reluctant to involve them. It set off his Danger Alarm, just like the thought of inventing muggle weapons, or testing out his "get rich quick" schemes.

He would tell Hermione, if she ever asked. But except for Defence class, he'd barely seen her all of September.

Once Harry had enough money (and found a way to circumvent the Statute of Secrecy), he would be able to hire his own research team, and maybe a few of his classmates would be skilled enough to join him. Maybe then he could start making some real progress.

Until then, he was Nikola Tesla, testing out his theories as a lone wolf, hoping to crack the secrets of the universe.

* * *

Hermione walked with a bounce in her step down the empty hallway, before twirling as she rounded a corner.

It was 9:46 pm on Thursday evening, and she was finally done with tournament prep.

Hermione hummed a tune, whose words she couldn't remember, but it was probably Disney. They had songs for all sorts of occasions. She passed an open window, the little rays shining through like Earth's own brand of magic.

No more 30 hour days filled with meticulously casting charms and breaking hexes. No more eating a quick lunch before dashing off to complete endless bothersome tasks. She'd still have tournament duties in the days before each event, of course, but the hard work was done. She could finally—dare she think it?—focus on her homework and being a normal teenage girl. Or, well, whatever her version of normal was.

She didn't realize the weight until she was free of it, and now she felt positively giddy. Such a grand occasion, she thought, must be celebrated. So, she turned to the open window, drew her wand, and cast the Avis charm.

A flock of translucent nightingales flew into the clear night, chirping their song. Their bright glow reminded her of the Patronus charm. She smiled and leaned out the window, watching them flutter and sing with the joy of being alive.

It occurred to Hermione that, if her life _were_ a Disney movie, this would be the moment she would start singing for her prince to come. In fact, according to movie logic, somewhere down in the bushes was a prince wandering around, waiting to fall in love at first sight. And then, of course, he would be captured and it would be up to her and a plucky team of magical animals to rescue him.

Hermione chuckled. Still, as nice as it would be to have one, Hermione knew a prince wasn't going to make her dreams come true. She would have to do that on her own.

Ever since she was in preschool, Hermione had wanted to make a difference in the world. She was inspired by stories of Martin Luther King and Mother Theresa, and she used to daydream about fighting crime like a superhero. When she came back from the dead with super powers, Hermione felt a grave sense of responsibility. It wasn't just a childish fantasy anymore. Maybe, if she were smart enough and brave enough, she really could change the world.

When she was 13 years old, she tested her abilities against criminals in her hometown, but that ended up putting her in handcuffs. Then, while she was in prison wondering where it all went wrong, Madam Bones rescued her and brought her into her office in the Ministry. She'd made Hermione a proposal: she would teach and train her, help her to realize her full abilities, and then Hermione would help Madam Bones protect the Wizarding world.

Hermione eagerly accepted. She saw her life planned out, a map that lead her to her Great Cause. The Aurors would teach her the skills she needed to be a competent witch and fighter, and she would climb the ranks, making allies and reforming the system from the inside out. Why, she could even see herself as the next Minister of Magic. She could help protect the innocent in Magical Britain, and hopefully someday, the world.

She sighed, watching one of birds explode into sparks against the wall. What she hadn't realized was just how much she would have to struggle to achieve her dream. It's not like she'd expected it to be easy, but sometimes if felt like she was trying to sprint an uphill marathon. She knew all the struggle would be worth it, and she wasn't going to give up, but she had not chosen an easy path. Sometimes, she just wanted a break to catch her breath.

She checked her Auror mirror again, but Harry still hadn't responded to her message. It figured that the one night she was free, he was busy. She couldn't really blame him, though. Sometimes she checked her mirror after several days and found five or six messages from him. He'd probably left the mirror on his nightstand, since why bother checking it anymore? Feeling a twinge of sadness, Hermione put aside her mirror and resigned herself to spending the evening with someone else.

The common room for the 7th year Beauxbatons students was eerily quiet, which was unusual for this time of night. Even the hallways seemed less crowded than usual. Hermione put on her invisibility cloak and walked behind a Ravenclaw 1st year going into her old common room, and noticed that the blue tower was sparsely populated as well.

Hermione pulled off her cloak, sat down on the couch, and thought about what to do. Perhaps she could read a book and wait for a chance to join in someone's conversation? She glanced around the room, at the clusters of 2nd and 3rd years that she didn't know. She tried to remember what people did during "hang outs," and for some reason kept coming back to playing tag or Chutes and Ladders…

With a sudden deflating feeling, she realized she couldn't remember the last time she'd tried to relate to a classmate on a normal level. Even at Beauxbatons, she was still just the smart kid who skipped ahead a few grades, the celebrity nobody really knew.

Hermione frowned. She could make the audience laugh during her interviews. It shouldn't be that hard to have a conversation with someone about shared interests, but she didn't even know where to start.

In moments like these, Hermione would go into imagination mode and have practice conversations, just in case she needed to have a real one.

 _Hi, Hermione!_ said Person 1. _What's your favourite book?_

 _Oh, well, there's so many, I don't even know where to start! Could you give me a category? Or maybe a year range of publication? Hold on, I think I have a list of favourite books somewhere in my pouch..._

She grimaced. Hopefully no one would ask her that question.

 _Hi. Hermione!_ said Person 2. _What's your favourite movie?_

 _That's easy. I really love the Princess Bride. I think the characters are so funny! But I also really love Beauty and the Beast, and I hope someday I get to dance in a library full of books, and maybe get my own talking teacup. Wait…that's weird, hold on—_

Hermione's mirror pinged, breaking her out of her inner monologue. She sighed. Most of the time, her mirror ringing meant someone needed her to be somewhere.

Then she remembered it might be Harry.

She pulled her mirror from her pocket, and the viewscreen opened to Tonks, her electric green hair whipped by the wind. Surrounding her was a throng of people waving sparkling wands.

"Hermione!" she called, a grin splitting her face. "Get to Hogsmeade right now!"

"Why?" asked Hermione, standing up.

"The Weird Sisters are holding a secret gig!" Someone screamed in the background, which was answered by a chorus of screeches. Tonks swept the mirror, showing the horde of people in the town centre. "Look at this crowd! This is going to be insane!"

Hermione had heard of the Weird Sisters. In every dorm, there was always someone who felt compelled to share their music with the world, at high volume at 11:00 at night. And this was at Beauxbatons, where even the strongest fans were moderate compared to the fanatical devotion of Hogwarts students, especially Gryffindor. The not-so-secret gig that had emptied Hogwarts on a Thursday night would probably be so legendary that the students would be comparing it to Woodstock and telling their grandchildren all about it.

It was not Hermione's kind of thing at all. She read books, practiced magic spells, and smiled pleasantly in fan photos. She didn't think she'd enjoy having her eardrums impaled by loud music and firecracker charms, while being crushed by a crowd of sweaty teenagers. And if she did go, and someone got hurt, chances are she'd get stuck performing first aid.

"Ummm…" said Hermione. "Isn't it…sort of…against the rules to go to Hogsmeade during the week?"

"Who cares?" Tonks laughed. "Even Hagrid is here!"

Some of the Ravenclaws, who were listening in on the conversation, bewailed the fact that they had no one to take them to Hogsmeade. Which meant that, even if Hermione stayed in Hogwarts, that's what the depressing topic of conversation would be. She could maybe try to play a game with them, but they were younger girls, and she had a feeling it would be weird. Otherwise, she could just read a book and go to bed.

Hermione grimaced. It was the same old routine. Study, read, go to bed early like a good girl. Would it really hurt that much to try something outside her comfort zone? And besides, even if this was a horrible mistake, she was a troll unicorn witch. She could handle it.

Hermione took a deep breath and let it out.

"I'll meet you there," she said.


	7. Paper Planes

Chapter 7: Paper Planes

Harry sat down at his customary desk at the back of the room with a weary sigh. He took the sandwich and whatever else he'd swiped and ate his lunch, though according to his biological clock, it was closer to dinner.

Last night, he'd tried to get the Questionable Items out of the closet. At the time, he wasn't worried so much as curious. The only time travel that he knew of was backwards. This one allowed him to travel forward in time, sort of. He was actually counting on the item to attempt to manipulate time again, because he needed the data. If he could somehow master the device, why, think of all the uses for interstellar travel.

He had a system in place that should minimize the amount of time lost, while also providing insight into which one was the offending item. He estimated he wouldn't lose more than 3 hours. However, as a precaution, he'd told Neville that if he didn't hear from him in 12 hours, to call McGonagall and rescue him. He'd gone in his room at about 9:00 pm, and left 30 seconds later to see the morning sun shining through the window.

This told him 2 things:

1) The amount of time lost in the time dilatation is not consistent with time spent in the room.

2) No way he was going in there again without at least three spotters, and maybe a gun.

Harry bit into his sandwich, contemplating if he should tell McGonagall. He could ask her to remove the item for him, but he knew that she would probably confiscate everything, and the thought literally pained him. He'd be better off giving himself another week to figure it out. Although…last night had been a bit much. He'd lost 11 hours. The scariest part was that if he had told Neville to contact McGonagall in three days, would he still be in the room?

The door creaked open behind him, and his shoulders tensed. Class wasn't supposed to start for another twenty minutes, and he'd left the Great Hall specifically to give himself a break from everyone. He'd discovered that during the night, a mysterious illness had come over Hogwarts that seized people with the desire to stand on chairs to riff imaginary guitars. They'd also start singing random songs in the middle and carry on until someone else started another one. He'd briefly considered going back into the room and skipping a few more hours.

"Oh… _there_ you are, Harry," said the voice behind him.

Harry turned around, and saw Hermione walking towards him. He'd been looking forward to seeing her, since now he didn't have to feel guilty about distracting her from work. But, the way she was charging towards him was setting off warning bells. He was trying to figure out what he did wrong, and if there was a way to talk himself out of it.

"Umm," said Harry, his hands still grasping the sandwich. "If you're mad about the fact I didn't respond to your message, I just want you to know I had a really good explanation—"

Hermione waved her hand, telling him to stop. She pulled something from her bag. "I was looking for you earlier, and I found this in your lab." She slammed a paper down on the desk in front of him, almost colliding with his chips. "Explain this."

Harry examined the poorly drawn comic with characters who were clearly from one particular school.

"Umm…I didn't do it."

"Oh, really? I can't think of anyone else who would write, 'A logarithm is a log that's got rhythm.'"

"Err…"

"And 'The ingredients to a love potion are gold dust, a vintage shoe sacrifice, and…oh look, shiny!'"

Harry slowly put down his sandwich. He'd been joking around with his classmates in the lab about what kinds of answers Beauxbatons students would write on a test, and one of them had decided to get to drawing it up. They'd all shared a laugh, and he'd left it on his desk for future reference.

"I…didn't write the thing. I may have been in the room at the time of its inception, but it was all in good fun, really! No one was supposed to see it."

Hermione folded her arms. "So you admit to the crime. This is really immature, Harry. You may have been angry about Marguerite, but your comic insults the entire school. And your defence is, 'It was all in good fun, really?'"

"I wasn't trying to get back at Marguerite, if that's what you're thinking."

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "So, what, you _were_ insulting my entire school? Do you think we're all vapid idiots or something?"

Harry winced. It was one of his principles not to fight with Hermione, since it usually ended badly for him anyway. Still, he had to be honest. "I wasn't going to admit this, but yes, I do have some concerns about the quality of their education."

Hermione let out a laugh. "You're kidding, right? Okay, explain."

"Well…" Harry looked towards the door, catching the eye of a few students who were passing by. "I mean, their entrance into Hogwarts was the first clue something was wrong. I can't believe their headmistress signed off on that."

Hermione made a face. "That was bad, I'll admit. Still, I heard about the Hogwarts' song, and that was at least 10 times worse."

"Yes, but we didn't perform it, because McGonagall scrapped it once she saw how bad it was. That's my point. She knew it was a tradition to have a school performance, but decided to do away with tradition since it was preferable to looking like idiots."

"Umm…where are you going with this, Harry?"

"You've seen Beauxbaton's work in Defence, Hermione. They never place at the top of the class. They're so worked up about form, about making the spell look "perfect," that when it comes time to practice in a mock duel, they choke up. They know how to cast it, but not how to use it effectively. They're too afraid to make mistakes to really try, forget about going off script and trying something new."

Hermione snorted and shook her head.. "You got this from the way they practice making shields? Give them a little credit—we've only had four classes. Besides, there's nothing wrong with doing well in class and, you know, listening to your teacher."

He sighed. "Alright, fair point. However, keep in mind that they take their OWLs in their 6th year instead of their 5th, and they still lag behind Hogwarts in their scores. Besides, if their greatest contribution to the wizarding world is that the entire graduating class can cast the Avis charm, then there is something wrong with their curriculum."

A few students came in and sat down. They had their books open, but were watching the show between Harry and their assistant teacher.

"Oh, you want to talk about educational performance?" said Hermione, folding her arms. "I heard about what happened in Hogwarts last year. Everyone scored Dreadfuls on their final exams, but it was too embarrassing to fail everyone, so McGonagall just passed them to the next year."

"A small setback, and it won't happen again. If you knew what we went through last year, you'd be impressed that we had finals at all," said Harry, wrapping up his sandwich. "All things considered, Hogwarts still educates better than Beauxbatons on almost every level." The words were leaving his mouth when he realized what he'd just said, and how it must sound to his very competitive friend. He gave Hermione a pleading look. "Umm…you're not going to take this personally and refuse to speak to me for a month, are you?"

Hermione's response was a slow, devilish smirk, which somehow made him even more nervous. "You should know something about Beauxbatons, Harry Potter. We don't have houses, because we believe in solidarity. Mess with one of us, and you mess with all of us." She leaned in, hands braced on the sides of his desk. "Remember how I'm taking 6th year classes and know how to cast 6th year jinxes?"

Harry gulped. "But…you won't? Because you're a nice superhero, who is also an assistant teacher? Your students are over there watching us."

Hermione chuckled darkly. "Actually, I read that punishing one student can make the other students respect you. Think I should try it?"

Harry blinked, his brain struggling to resolve this wicked Hermione with her innocent aura. "Err….you sure you weren't reading a book on how to be a better mob boss?"

She pulled away from him, re-crossing her arms. "Well, I won't do it, but you did just insult my entire school. I can't let that stand, Harry." Her mischievous smirk returned. "You need to answer for your words."

"Wait a minute…" Harry blinked. Ahh, so that's where this was going. He was a little embarrassed it had taken him so long to figure out. Harry gave her his best dark lord grin. "Are you going to make me? I'd like to see that. You might be the star of Witch Weekly, but I'm the Dark Lord Harry. There's a reason people fear me."

She tapped her fingers against her arm. "You know, the more you talk up your game, the more satisfying it's going to be to take you down." Her smile was smug. "I can't wait to see the look on your face when I crush you."

"And I can't wait to make you eat your words, Miss Alicorn."

A few of the students in the back started snickering, though they quickly piped down once Harry shot them a deadpan glare, the kind you gave a bug before killing it. He didn't look away until he was satisfied they knew that no one was allowed to tease Hermione except for him.

Harry turned back to Hermione and smiled, leaning back in his chair. "Just one problem. We don't have any classes together, so how will we judge the winner of this rivalry?"

"Actually, we do have one class," said Hermione. "I'm taking Transfiguration with the 5th years."

"Wait, you are?" Harry frowned. "Then why haven't I seen you?"

"McGonagall said I didn't have to attend class for the first few weeks, as long as I did the homework." She bit her lip, her shoulders slumping. "I had to miss Charms class, too. I hated it, but there was no time. At least it was mostly review."

"I see," said Harry slowly, then shrugged. "You know, we could just resolve this like civilized people and face each other in a duel."

"Ha, ha that's funny," said a gruff voice from behind him. "You got a death wish, kid?"

Harry turned around to see Mad-Eye Moody, wearing his signature brown duster and leaning against a staff. Presumably he used it for walking, but Harry got the sense he'd brought it explicitly to cane annoying students.

"What are you doing here, Moody?" asked Harry.

"I'm observing the lesson, just to make sure my idiot protégé here hasn't gotten herself into any trouble with dark curses." His blue eye swivelled around the room, before settling on Hermione. "But you're an even bigger idiot, boy, if you think you can defeat Beauxbaton's best charm's mistress in a fair fight."

Harry smirked. "Well, I think I stand a pretty fair chance. After all, I was able to defeat y—"

Harry tried to force the air out, but he couldn't speak.

"I take that back," said Mad Eye. "You should fight him, Hermione. Let him know he's not as resistant to your charms as he thinks. CONSTANT VIGILANCE!"

He slammed his cane down over Harry's hands, rattling the desk so hard it cracked like a gunshot. Harry leaped backward to avoid it, and tipped his chair over onto the floor.

Mad Eye laughed, and then walked with his cane down the steps. Hermione knelt down to help Harry up, before taking her place at the front of the room.

The student beside Harry, a 5th year Gryffindor, nudged him. "Aww man, you're so lucky. You have a cute Beauxbatons girl flirting with you, and you got roasted by Mad Eye!"

Harry ignored him, and opened his textbook. He had more important things to think about. Like how he was going to crush Hermione Granger.

Next week's Transfiguration class was going to be so much fun.

* * *

Later that evening, Hermione was contentedly reading a book in the library when Tonks plonked down beside her and draped an arm over her shoulder.

"So," said Tonks conspiratorially. "I've been hearing rumors about you and a certain young man. Apparently, you two had some fun while I wasn't around. I want details."

Hermione sighed and closed the book. She'd known Tonks would find out somehow, and she'd spent all day preparing her spiel that was now pouring out in a jumbled mess. "Okay, listen, umm, I don't know what you heard, but it was dark, and there was all this music and fireworks, and I'm certain someone spiked the butterbeer or cast a _Confundus_ charm over the entire crowd. In any case, I've just decided to forget the whole thing ever happened."

Tonks stared at her in silence, then she let out a surprised laugh. "I was talking about Harry Potter in Defence class. What were _you_ talking about?"

"Umm…." said Hermione, wishing someone had charmed her lips shut. "Crap."

* * *

McGonagall had initially been happy about the fact that Hermione was joining her Transfiguration class. It wasn't just because Hermione was such a bright, helpful student, or that she seemed to pull up the class average by simply being in the room. She thought that Hermione working side by side with Harry Potter would be good for the both of them.

McGonagall was worried about Harry. Ever since Hermione left Hogwarts, his test scores had slowly dropped each year. He was still making good grades, but he didn't participate in class like he used to. He also never talked to her, and spent most of his time alone.

Sometime last year, Harry had asked McGonagall if they could offer a muggle science elective. He'd even offered to prepare the course materials, if someone would be willing to teach it. McGonagall had refused, claiming there wouldn't be enough interest from students, before she realized that the real reason was because she was scared. Science was muggle magic, and she'd gotten it into her head that no wizard could know it well enough to teach it properly.

So, she'd compromised, and offered to teach Muggle science at the end of Transfiguration classes, which she would extend by 20 minutes. It was partly a favour to the Boy-Who-Lived, and partly a challenge to herself. Harry had offered his advice, but she told him not to worry. She bought some books about science experiments for young children, and set to work outlining her curriculum.

It had taken her 6 months, and it still wasn't up to her standards. But she would try her best.

"Now then, students," said McGonagall. "I trust you've all read the pages for today." She knew they hadn't. "So I'm sure you'll ace the pop quiz."

Several students groaned. "Professor!"

It was one of her joys in life to remind students to take their studies seriously, especially if it meant surprising them with pop quizzes.

Harry and Hermione were the first to turn theirs in, and they arrived on her desk at almost the same time. It took another 5 minutes for the next student to turn theirs in, and she could tell just by glancing at it that they'd guessed half of it. The student was now leaning back in his chair, his brain somewhere far away.

Once the quiz was over, McGonagall shuffled the papers and announced. "I hope this is a reminder to you all that studying is important. Our top scoring students were also both the first to finish. For their excellent work, I'm awarding 10 points to Ravenclaw." McGonagall lamented the fact that she could award no points to Beauxbatons.

"Professor," said Harry, raising his hand. "Can I inquire, which of us finished first?"

"I don't know, Harry. I would need a time turner to check."

McGonagall saw Harry glance at Hermione, but she gave him a pointed look and shook her head.

"Now then, on to the lesson," said McGonagall briskly. "As you all know, we have been studying vanishing spells, but we will take a short break today to practice conjuring spells. Open your textbooks to page 19 ½."

The lesson went smoothly, though she noticed subtle changes. Whenever she asked a question, Harry and Hermione would both raise their hands to answer. Sometimes, Harry would be taking notes, but as soon as Hermione raised her hand, he'd abandon the notes to also raise his hand. McGonagall started deliberately calling on everyone but those two, but they didn't give up, even straining a little to remind her they were there.

They spent the lesson working on the _Inanimatus Conjurus_ Spell, and to practice, she had them try to conjure up sheets of paper. Hermione finished first, and immediately flashed a grin in Harry's direction. He ground his teeth before completing his own conjuration. McGonagall had to turn away and hide her chuckle. Then she walked the class room to assist other students, and she asked Hermione to do the same. When McGonagall passed Harry, he was giving her this questioning look. She normally didn't ask Harry to help the other students, since he could be a bit abrasive, but she decided just this once to let him go.

McGonagall got stuck helping one student who just wasn't getting it, and when she looked up, she noticed that several of the students were folding the paper into airplanes. Not only that, but Harry and Hermione were instructing them on how to do it properly.

"What's going on?" she asked.

"Oh, sorry," Hermione said. "It's just…well, we've just been finished for a while, and thought it would be fun to do something with the paper."

"Professor," said Harry politely. "Would it be alright to have an airplane race? We could relate it to a discussion on the principles of aerodynamics afterwards."

"Well…" said McGonagall. "I suppose I don't see the harm."

She'd assumed it would be a nice, simple competition between classmates. What it turned into was a tiered racing competition with both semi-finals and final rounds. McGonagall had never seen any class so dedicated to conjuring paper, or seen so many students running across the room to share tape and scissors. They drew lines at one end of the classroom using string, cleared desks out of the way, and Anthony Goldstein served as the referee to make sure there was no magical intervention.

Harry and Cho Chang made it to the final round, and there was an excessive amount of cheering with the male students on one side by Harry, and the girls around Cho Chang. When McGonagall noted that they were running over class time, they'd begged her to let them finish. Finally, after a sudden death round, Cho Chang came out the winner. Everyone was screaming and clapping, and they raised her in the air and lit up firecracker charms. McGonagall was reminded of the end of Quidditch matches, and she hoped that perhaps in all of that playing, they had learned something.

On their next class the following day, McGonagall decided she wouldn't let things go off the rails. They would be conjuring paper clips, and she'd already come up with a simple experiment using dish soap, pepper and cups of water. She would end the class by explaining the principles of surface tension, and that would be that.

However, in the middle of class, one of the Ravenclaws had the bright idea to shove a paperclip under his friend's fingernail. After much screaming and name calling, McGonagall pulled both kids outside for a stern lecture about safety in Transfiguration class.

She'd only been gone a few minutes. When she returned, she saw her students carrying large sword shaped paperclip spirals, a giant tank of water in the centre of the room, and Harry standing in front of it on a ladder. "Alright, boys and girls, step right up to try floating your jumbo paper clips. There's no weight limit, but it must be longer than 1 meter. Place your bets now if you're gonna make them!"

"HARRY POTTER! What is the meaning of this?"

His eyes widened, and he stumbled on the ladder. "Umm...professor, we were just…testing out some principles of buoyancy…you know, like how rafts can float even though they're big…"

" _Finite Incantatem_!" she cried, and all the conjurations vanished. "Class dismissed, and 20 points from Ravenclaw." She turned a fierce glare on the two offending students. "Harry Potter, Hermione Granger. My office. Now."

* * *

Author's Notes:

Harry and Hermione's Rivalry:

Starting from their first week in Hogwarts, Harry and Hermione were friendly rivals. Their first challenge was to see who could read their schoolbooks faster. Hermione won, and as punishment Harry had to go on a date with her (which he hated). Their rivalry was great fun for both of them, but especially for Hermione, who kept crushing Harry Potter. Over time she came to regret her decision, since her classmates thought of her only as his rival, and his love interest.

But now that she's made her own name for herself as an Auror-in-Training and a superhero, well...what kind of self-respecting heroine _doesn't_ have an arch nemesis she can crush on a daily basis?


	8. Positive Behaviour Management

Chapter 8: Positive Behaviour Management

McGonagall sat in her headmistress's chair, staring down the two students seated opposite her. She wore her Inquisitor Mask, a stern, cold expression designed to strike fear into the hearts of even the most brazen Gryffindor. It seemed to be working on poor Hermione, who looked like she was about to burst into tears. Harry, on the other hand, merely regarded her with a patient look, and she feared he had grown impervious to her glares. She knew he was gearing up for his argument.

"First of all," said Harry. "I want to apologize. What I did was wrong. It was your classroom, and I should have asked first before making modifications without your consent."

"Quite right, Potter," she said coolly. "And I suppose you're about to explain to me exactly why I should have allowed it in the first place?"

Harry cringed, and McGonagall felt a bit of satisfaction. "Well, I…I did want to explain why I did it. The paper clip experiment you assigned us is scientifically accurate, but it was very simple. It's something Muggle children learn in primary school. I wanted to adapt it for high school age students."

"How _exactly_ is putting a giant tank of water in the middle of my classroom supposed to improve the experiment?"

"If we have a bigger tank, it's easier to practice with larger items. With my experiment, it would allow students to measure more than just surface tension. We could also consider factors like buoyancy, density, surface area, and curvature."

McGonagall sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "The students didn't conjure those paperclips. What were they transfigured from?"

"Umm…little paperclips. Hermione had five packs in her pouch."

"I didn't know that's what you'd do with them!" cried Hermione, tearing up. "I didn't have any part in this, McGonagall!"

"Hush, child," said McGonagall. "I know it wasn't your fault. It's clearly the work of someone who thinks the rules don't apply to him."

"Well…" said Harry, glowering. "For the record, I did apologize."

McGonagall tented her fingers and considered the situation. Harry Potter, the boy who barely cast a shadow in her class, had spent the last two days peacocking around her classroom. She could only think of one or two things that would cause this kind of behaviour. Neither of them, unfortunately, responded well to correction in the form of detentions.

"I think I understand what is going on," said McGonagall. "You are both young people, and you have all these new feelings and emotions. It's normal to be confused about how to handle them."

Hermione's eyes grew wide and she blushed, but Harry just gave her a bored look. So, probably not that then, at least for him. She switched tactics.

"I've seen this happen quite a lot with young Ravenclaws, especially. Your brilliant minds are a magnet for trouble, unless you're given the chance to use them productively."

"Professor McGonagall?" said Hermione, looking confused.

"You're both bored. My classes, and I assume your classes in general, are not challenging enough for you. I've suspected this with Harry for some time, but now that I see how you react to each other, I'm certain of it. You need more intellectual stimulation than I can give you."

McGonagall watched for their reaction. Harry was leaning forward in his chair, curious to see what she would say next. Hermione studied her hands in her lap, though McGonagall knew she heard every word. McGonagall crossed the room to her shelf, which contained countless magical artefacts, most inherited and with unknown functions. She kept telling herself that one day she needed to sit down and figure out what each thing did, but she had enough on her plate, and ancient magic liked to be incredibly difficult to decipher. It might be possible, if she had the elder wand, but that had disappeared with Dumbledore. It sounded like a headache best saved for the next headmistress.

McGonagall pulled the palm-sized, white dome off the bottom shelf. It pulsed faintly as she carried it over to the desk.

"What is that?" asked Harry.

McGonagall couldn't keep the pride out of her voice when she answered, "This is an ancient device created by the founders of Hogwarts. They had the foresight to understand that some wizards and witches would be so powerful, that not even their great school would have enough knowledge to educate them. So, they used the well of magic deep within Hogwarts to generate quests, each one designed to test the virtues of a specific house. If the student can pass the quest, they receive a reward. If they fail, they are punished."

Harry stared at the device, which was pulsing a light red as she spoke. "Huh," he said. "So the quests are like extra credit for Hogwarts students. In that case, I'm guessing that this device is the only means to unlock them?"

"Yes," said McGonagall. "Once the headmistress unlocks the quests, that student is able to use their wand to open the portal into the quest realm. You could bring a guest, but it could change the dynamic of the game and put you at risk. These quests are not easy."

"Have you tried it before?" asked Harry.

"Once or twice," said McGonagall. "Though if you want hints, Harry, I suggest you play the game and find out for yourself."

Harry waved his hand. "Oh no, please, I would prefer that you don't give me hints. But…I do have one question. Is there some kind of legendary item that you can win if you've completed a certain number of quests? Perhaps an artefact like Ravenclaw's Diadem, for instance? Or does every new quest reset the system, and you can't accumulate any points?"

McGonagall raised an eyebrow. "I suppose you'll have to figure that out."

One of the items on her shelf made a whistling noise, and Harry glanced at it before turning back and rubbing a hand over his head. In that quick movement, McGonagall was struck by how much he looked like his father. She'd often dragged James into her office with Sirius, and while she berated them, they would sit there the whole time, acting contrite and telling her what they thought she wanted to hear. Inevitably, she'd drag them back in again a week later for the same offense.

"Are the quests dangerous?" asked Hermione.

"Some of them, if you're not careful," said McGonagall.

"We're very careful," said Harry, nodding firmly. "I'm always prepared for any emergency, and Hermione is careful even though she's almost indestructible. In fact, I think if you open these quests, it would make sense for you to give us the most challenging scenario, if that's an option."

"Humm," said McGonagall. "What do you think, Hermione?"

She blinked. "About what?"

"Would you like to do easier quests, or more difficult ones?"

She frowned, glancing at Harry. "Umm…I don't know."

"How about easy, then?" suggested McGonagall, making a little turn on the dial. "Please give me your wand, Hermione."

Harry straightened up in his seat. "Professor," he said. "Her quests should match my level. It wouldn't be a fair..."

He cut off, his face filling with horror. "You will be giving me quests too, right? You wouldn't just say all those things before to get my hopes up—"

"Well, you can go on quests with Hermione, if she wants to invite you."

Harry looked aghast. "Professor! I know I messed up today, but normally I have demonstrated very good behaviour and sound judgment! I saved the school at least twice! Remember, last year when time fractured and I had to come up with a way to get all the timelines together again? And furthermore, Hermione's not even a student here, so she can't be among the best at Hogwarts!"

"We'll see about that," said McGonagall. "Try tapping your wand on the dome, Hermione."

Hermione held her wand, her frown creating faint worry lines on her forehead. "If I change my mind, can you reverse it?"

"Yes," said McGonagall.

Hermione touched her wand to the dome. It glowed a deep, Ravenclaw blue, and then cycled through the other four colours, before emitting a sound like a lock being unlatched.

Hermione slowly lowered her wand, with a hint of a smile. "I guess…Hogwarts still thinks I'm a Ravenclaw."

McGonagall smiled, her heart softening. "The Sorting Hat is a bit stubborn about these things.

Harry folded his arms. "That's all well and good, then. I suppose you'll just leave this other Ravenclaw to do his maths homework or something."

McGonagall gave him her Inquisitor Stare. He sighed, rubbing his forehead. "Let's start over. I understand that this is your device, Professor, and I have no strict claim to its use, no matter how many good deeds I have done. However, if you're doing this to teach me some kind of lesson about obedience or humility or whatever, would you please consider another method? For example, I think a few detentions with Hagrid cleaning the animal pens would be suitably humbling." She gave him a look, and he raised his hands placatingly. "I'm not trying to impede on your rights as teacher, I'm only asking because it's necessary. I cannot stress enough how important these quests will be to my research, for the sake of all mankind."

An unheard (to everyone but her) warning sound announced that someone was coming in by Floo system. The fireplace blazed, and Mad Eye Moody spun in with his wand held at the ready, his brilliant blue eye searching around the room.

"Good afternoon, Headmistress," he said. "Getting into trouble already, children?"

McGonagall stood up. "I'll escort them out."

As she led them to the door, Harry glanced up at her, his gaze level. "Since we didn't have time to finish talking, I'm going to assume this conversation isn't over. I'll take some time to think about my actions and then we can calmly discuss this situation later, at which point perhaps we can come to an agreement about appropriate punishment."

McGonagall sighed and let them out the door, with the sense that if Mad Eye hadn't interrupted them, she would have had to throw him out.

* * *

Minerva and Alastor sat in the Headmaster's office, exchanging pleasantries. It didn't last long. After years of seeing their number of friends dwindling, the conversation felt stilted, like it was missing its arms and legs.

"The room still feels so empty without Snape brooding nearby," said Alastor, gripping the arms of his chair as he settled in.

Minerva smiled. "Or Albus. He never would change out of those silly pyjamas."

Alastor chuckled, though it came out rough like a cough. "The old coot bested me. I never figured out if he was crazy or pretending to be crazy."

Minerva shrugged, but she suspected it was both. Albus—all of the old wizards, really—had seen more than enough to drive anyone mad.

Alastor took a swig from his flask, then let out a long sigh. "So, how's the Triwizard Tournament coming along? No rampaging Hippogriffs yet?"

"It's going quite well," said Minerva. "We've secured the dragons for the first task, and Charlie Weasley and his crew have volunteered to bring them in from Romania. They should arrive within a week."

"Ahh, glad to hear Molly's boy is doing well for himself. He used to be such a weird kid, never seemed interested in anything besides animals. Thought he was into bestiality for a bit, since he never went out with girls. Safe to say, you can't do that kind of thing with dragons."

There was a reason Alastor never taught at Hogwarts.

"Anyway," said Minerva. "You said you had news about the Ministry?"

Alastor's face darkened, a razor sharp glint in his eyes. "Madam Bones and I were called in to speak to Minister Fudge. There have been gatherings in eastern Europe, signs of rebellion among the wizarding population, both pure blood and Muggleborn. There are concerns they might get violent, if they haven't already. There was a bombing last week that was attributed to Muggle terrorists, but the Aurors are investigating it for signs of magical influence."

Minerva tried to think back, but she couldn't remember reading anything in the papers. "Why do they suspect magic users?"

"I'm not sure, but the Ministry in Russia has been looking into the matter. They won't give us any more information at this time, but Igor Karkarov vouches for them, and told us to be cautious."

"I see," said Minerva, her heart plummeting. There was no prophesy she'd heard of that suggested it possible, but it had already happened once. "Do they think that it's related to Voldemort?"

"No way to know for sure," grumbled Alastor. "It would help if the Russians wouldn't be so damned tight-lipped. Our department is investigating what we can on our own. One thing I wanted to mention is that Minster Fudge was asking about accelerating Hermione's progress into the Auror position."

Minerva's skin crawled at the thought of him. "Let me guess. He wants to use her as a bodyguard?"

Alastor nodded, taking another swig from his bottle. "Madam Bones told him she wasn't ready, but we might have to put her in the field anyway. Madam Bones may be the leader of the Wizengamot, but Minister Fudge still holds the Auror program's purse strings." He chewed his lip. "There are also…certain other factors that I'm not at liberty to discuss, which could lead her to matriculating early as well."

"I'm scared for her, Alastor," said Minerva, her voice soft. She tapped the edge of her papers, as if her hands needed something to do.

"Well," he said, with a weary sigh. "We both knew this would happen eventually. Albus warned us of that."

Minerva stared down at her desk, at the stack of papers she had yet to work on, feeling heartsick and weary. She'd known all along that Hermione and Harry would have to grow up quickly. Dumbledore mentioned things to her, the remnants of prophecies as he paced his office, but the general import was that both students would be called to lead during one of the darkest periods of history. The burden of that destiny was a heavy one, and Dumbledore had borne it for them as long as possible, at great cost to himself.

Now it was her turn to guide them, and Minerva worried she wasn't doing enough to prepare them. She wasn't the sort of person to strategically use people, or give insightful speeches about destiny and greatness. She was only a teacher, who'd watched over countless children as they'd grown from pre-teens to adults. She'd also seen her brightest and bravest students fall to Voldemort, when they had only just left her care.

In addition, while the prophecies within the Hall of Mysteries had been destroyed, Minerva still had transcripts of what Dumbledore said to her. Since the strange 4th year in Hogwarts, she'd begun gathering evidence to explain what caused it. When comparing her research to those prophesies, she was beginning to suspect something unusually complicated was going on, to the point that involving the 5th years might hinder rather than help.

Taking everything into consideration, this was what she'd decided: Even though Harry and Hermione were far from average, they were still young and innocent. Young girls and boys, for the sake of their developing minds, should feel safe and protected. They needed to build happy memories to sustain them when they were battle worn and weary. Minerva wanted to protect that peace for as long as she could, and let the uncertain worries of the future remain in the future.

But if she was wrong, and Merlin help her, she might be, at least she could say she tried her best.

* * *

"Hermione!" called Harry, chasing after her down the hallway. "I was just irritated. I didn't mean any of it! I'm not interested in easy quests anyway, so I won't try and steal yours."

Hermione huffed a sigh, and kept walking. The fact that he still hadn't realized why she was angry only made her more annoyed. In the interest of not saying something she'd regret, she'd decided not to talk to him until she'd cooled down.

Suddenly, he was standing in front of her, breathing heavily with his arm blocking her way. She didn't think she'd been walking that fast…but then again, she hadn't really been paying attention. "Alright, listen," he said between breaths. "I don't know what I did, and I'd rather not spend all evening trying to figure it out, so could you please just tell me?"

Hermione glared at him.

"I mean…" said Harry nervously. "Didn't things work out well for you? I was the one who got punished, whereas you got access to the Hogwarts quests. I would expect you'd be rubbing it in my face or something."

She folded her arms. "You want to know why I'm mad?"

"Umm…yes?" said Harry, looking even more nervous.

"It's because," she said, fighting to control her breathing. "I have a rivalry with you for less than a week, and already you botched it!"

"Well, I don't think it was that bad…"

Hermione started pacing. "You couldn't just settle with making better scores on tests. No, you had to set up that stupid paper clip experiment. Which, by the way, was testing buoyancy and not surface tension. And if you'd really, really wanted to test with larger objects, then all you needed to do was make one beaker slightly bigger. There was absolutely no reason for the giant vat of water in the middle of the room!"

Harry sighed. "Well…actually, that was my plan, originally." He rubbed the back of his head. "The spell backfired on me, and I was going to fix it. But then I noticed that all the students were more excited to put giant paperclips in the water tank than they had been for my previous idea, so I just…improvised. Anyway, I thought McGonagall would understand as long as I explained myself."

"That's a lie," said Hermione, folding her arms.

"Alright, fine, I hoped she might understand, but I was more concerned with making sure my experiment went smoothly. It's just really hard to get wizards interested in science, Hermione! Especially since they violate the laws of physics 6 times before breakfast. If the thing doesn't go boom, they're not impressed. I couldn't throw away the opportunity."

Hermione supposed Harry didn't find it necessary to mention that the other reason he'd done it was because it was nice to be the centre of attention. Not that Harry usually cared about those things, nor did Hermione. But sometimes, when the tension was high and there was music and dancing, you could get swept away into doing something reckless…and why was she thinking about the thing she'd decided to forget about?

"Harry," said Hermione, rubbing her forehead. "It's not like this is the first time. This is just the sort of thing you do."

"What are you talking about?"

She threw up her hands. "Chaos, Harry! Everything around you gets weird and confusing, and you don't care how it affects people. That's why I was avoiding you for so long. I just knew this would happen, but then I thought you'd changed…"

"Wait a minute," interrupted Harry, his face darkening. "I thought you said you were busy?"

Hermione wanted to take it back, but she couldn't, because the corner of her mind that wanted to blame him refused to budge.

"So all this time, you could have been...eating dinner with me, or at least returning my messages?"

"Of course I was busy, Harry! But if I had free time, I want to spend it doing something relaxing, not getting in trouble!"

"You didn't get in trouble!" Harry was annoyed now, she could hear it in his voice. "I got in trouble, and you got rewarded! You have absolutely no reason to be angry at me, and…you know what, I resent the fact that you're treating me like some kind of villain."

"How are free quests a reward if I can't use them?" Hermione fired back. "Do you realize what would have happened to me if—"

She stopped, the words dying on her lips. She couldn't tell Harry about Madam Bones, and how she would react if she'd known Hermione had gotten called into the Headmistress's office. It was childish, she realized, to worry so much about what her mentor would think, but it still hung around her neck like a chain. If Madam Bones learned that Hermione was doing Hogwarts quests, then she would probably scoff about them being a foolish waste of time, and that would leave Hermione feeling empty inside. Somehow, this Auror training program was a test she kept failing.

Hermione felt tears prickle in her eyes. Harry still glared at her, demanding an answer.

"I can't do this right now" She struggled to keep her voice from breaking. "I need to take a walk. Please let me go, Harry."

This time, he didn't try to stop her.

* * *

Harry spent his evening in his laboratory, skipping dinner because he didn't feel hungry, and utterly failing at translating the Latin spell book. He read over the same line 20 times before he realized he wasn't paying attention anymore.

Harry sighed and rubbed his forehead. This was exactly what he'd been trying to avoid. Every time Hermione got mad at him, he would spend the rest of the evening worrying about it and feeling confused, which meant he couldn't get any work done.

He understood Hermione about as well as he understood car engines. He grasped the basic principle from reading mechanical engineering textbooks, but if you'd asked him to fix one, he would probably just make things worse. That was essentially how helpless he felt when it came to Hermione's feelings. At least she hadn't cried.

 _Well, we stepped in it somehow. And I've got absolutely nothing_ , said Ravenclaw. _Anyone else have any ideas? Slytherin?_

 _Leave me out of this. I don't want to feel stupid._

 _Err, alright. Hufflepuff?_

 _Umm…we could give her a hug?_

 _Ha ha, yeah, that won't go over well if she's angry,_ muttered Gryffindor. _Not to mention, I'm not sure I even want to. After all, she said we're annoying and doesn't want to see us._

Harry spent a few seconds being angry all over again, before Ravenclaw spoke up.

 _Let's take that with a huge grain of salt, as it conflicts with all the data gathered during our interactions,_ said Ravenclaw. _It's not like we've been hexing students left and right, or anything._

 _Well, I'm modifying the internal schema, hypothetical to it being true,_ said Harry's Systems Administrator. _And the most likely conclusion is that Hermione is stressed about something unrelated to Harry's behaviour._

 _So…she was upset about something else and taking it out on him?_ said Slytherin. _I reject this conclusion on lack of evidence, and also because we probably read it off a cereal box. Could someone come up with something less derivative?_

Harry's collective parts all gave it a thought, and failed.

 _Umm..._ said Gryffindor. _Is it maybe...that irrational time of the month?_

 _Good job, Gryffindor,_ declared Slytherin. _You reminded me why I didn't want to be part of this conversation in the first place._

 _But wait!_ Hufflepuff exclaimed _. During the argument, didn't she look sort of sad?_ _And she has been busy and stressed lately. This could be an important data point._

 _Alright, so given that we have no better ideas, perhaps we could make some concessions that might allow her to…not feel like Harry is a source of additional stress?_ ventured Ravenclaw. _But how do we even…uggh, this is hard._

 _Well, whatever you do,_ added Slytherin. _Don't mention irrational times of the month._

All of a sudden, the door cracked open, and Hermione peeked into the room.

"Hi," she said quietly, leaning against it like a shield.

"Hi," Harry answered, in his most kind, non-threatening voice.

"Can I come in?" she asked.

"Uhh, sure," said Harry.

Hermione stepped inside and closed the door. She clasped her hands in front of her and took a deep breath. "I'm sorry for yelling earlier. I didn't really mean what I said. I've been stressed lately, and I think I was taking some of that out on you."

 _Huh, we're better at this than we thought,_ said Ravenclaw.

She rubbed her forehead. "I don't know what's wrong with me. I've been acting really strange and doing things I never thought I would do."

"It's alright," said Harry, and then decided he needed confirmation. "So…you weren't avoiding me?"

"Well…y-yes, I was, but not because you did anything wrong." She was blinking really hard, rubbing her arms. "Honestly, you've given me a lot of space, and I really appreciate it. I needed to focus on my work, and I didn't have the time or energy for anything else. But I'm going to try to make more time for my friends from now on."

"That's fair," said Harry gently. "But just so you know, I'm turning over a new leaf these days. I've decided to stop manipulating people, unless you tell me it's okay, and from now on I'll try to cause a little less chaos."

Hermione let out a laugh. "You're funny, Harry." She crossed the room to him, bending over his desk. "A Latin spell book?"

"I'm trying to translate it," said Harry. "Admittedly, I haven't made much progress, but I've got a lot of other projects going on right now." Also, he sort of hated Latin. The only languages he'd enjoyed learning were calculus and algebra. Someday he was going to create a universal translator spell and be done with it.

"Where did you find this?" asked Hermione, carefully turning a page. The tome was so old that the edges were starting to rot.

"It's from the quests," said Harry. "I did them last year."

Hermione glanced up at him, frowning. "The Hogwarts Quests? How?"

Harry turned to her, smiled and snapped his fingers.

"Alright, then, don't tell me," said Hermione, her eyes returning to the book, bright with interest. "Wherever you got this, it's beautiful." Her fingers traced the letters as she murmured softly.

"Can you read Latin?" asked Harry.

"I thought it would help me with spellcasting," said Hermione, shrugging. "It's easier once you learn French."

He gazed at her in surprise. This girl could run as fast as jet plane, crush steel with her bare hands, create original spells, and yet she _still_ made time to study Latin and French.

"Miss Granger, once again you prove yourself the brightest witch of her generation," said Harry, nodding approval. "I don't suppose you'd be interested in graciously assisting me with my little side project?"

She flipped the page, her brows raising with a sly grin. "That depends on how much you pay me. I think the standard going rate for research assistants is 13 pounds an hour? And that's only because I don't have my doctorate yet."

"You know, a true Ravenclaw would do it for the love of discovery."

"No, I'm just a vapid Beauxbatons witch. It's gold dust and cute shoes for me."

He glanced down, just to check, and noticed her shoes were simple black flats. Practically no heels at all. And yet, she was still at least an inch taller than him.

Harry admitted that bothered him, but that was just stereotypical male dominance traits kicking in, implanted into his brain by years of media influence and social conditioning. He didn't actually have to be taller than Hermione to prove a point about being either strong or capable. In fact if you combined great magic with high intelligence, then looks shouldn't matter at all.

Of course, this was also the world where Quidditch was the number one sport, and owl post was the preferred form of long distance communication.

Harry heard a ripping sound, and Hermione's hands sprang away from the book.. "I'm so sorry, Harry!" She looked mortified. "I didn't mean to, the page just caught, and—and—"

Harry waved his wand over the tear, setting it back to normal.

"Well then," said Harry, "Once you're finished demolishing that book, would you be interested in taking apart a few other ancient tomes?" He gestured towards his bookshelves, which were beginning to resemble his family's in their overcrowding.

"Wait…really?"

He nodded. "I've got French, Latin, Old English. Pick a flavour."

"Hang on, let me check the time." Hermione glanced her watch, her shoulders slumping. "We've only got four hours until curfew. I know it's not enough to get through more than a few, but…"

"Just do what I used to do," said Harry. "Put the invisibility cloak on, use the time turner, and then read twice as fast."

Harry and Hermione grabbed a few comfortable chairs and happily ransacked his bookshelves, before plopping down to read, enveloped in piles of books.


	9. Ten Duel Commandments

Chapter 9: Ten Duel Commandments

When she was little, Hermione learned that the best way to cheer yourself up when you were down was to think of three things you liked. On Saturday morning, she sat down to breakfast with a lot of things to be thankful for.

First of all, they were serving pancakes, which was Hermione's favourite breakfast food. Second of all, she'd finished all of her homework last night. Which meant that, third and finally, she was getting started on her backlog of fun and pointless YA romance novels. Bonus points for the fact that her hair had decided to behave today.

So, as she sat there, half of her brain focused on eating, the other half engrossed in her book, Tonks plonked down beside her.

"Well, well, _well_. I see you actually made it to breakfast," said Hermione.

"Oy, I get up early sometimes," said Tonks, piling the pancakes onto her plate and taking a huge bite before adding a stack of bacon. "Do you mind filling me in on the details of last night's dinner?"

Hermione took a sip of orange juice, her gaze not leaving the page. "We decided that the first tournament date will be on November 7th. Once the dragons arrive on the 5th, you'll be on third watch with me."

"Oh, lucky us, for being the juniors," said Tonks, pouring orange juice. "Well, at least we're doing it together."

Hermione stabbed her fork into her pancakes. "When are you actually going to start attending the dinners? I mean, I know they're awful, but you can't get out of them forever."

Tonks shrugged. "I'm very busy with my class work. Everyone knows that Defence Against the Dark Arts is a complicated subject to teach…I mean, not that I'm the real teacher." She glanced up at the walls of Hogwarts, as if pleading with them not to realize her mistake. "Mad Eye can back me up there."

Hermione was fascinated by Tonks' ability to talk her way out of anything. Tonks could insult someone, and they would take it as a compliment.

"Now that that's out of the way," said Tonks. "Let's talk about something more interesting." She nudged Hermione's shoulder. "Who are you asking to the Yule Ball? Please tell me it's Neville."

"Tonks, it's only October," Hermione said, laughing. "They haven't even announced the ball yet."

"Exactly, that's why you've got to lock that cutie down right now, before someone else snags him. Why are you shaking your head? You know he's a catch."

Hermione made a show of picking up her book and putting it in front of her face. Secretly, she appreciated the fact that Tonks wasn't mentioning the other person she liked, even though she was pretty sure Tonks knew.

Hermione heard, rather than saw, a tall figure take a seat in front of her. As his chair scraped the floor, the whole table went quiet around them.

"Oh, hello." Tonks blinked, the piece of bacon she'd been about to cram in her mouth suspended in her hand.

Hermione lowered her book, her eyes widening. Directly in front of her sat Boris Krum, his dark hair and muscled body glistening wet, like he'd just stepped out of the shower. He ran a hand through his hair, smoothing back the damp waves. His hazel eyes instantly found Hermione's, and he smiled, his cheek dimpling.

"Umm, hey buddy," said Tonks. "Where is your shirt? It's like 15 degrees."

He shovelled food onto his plate. Seven pancakes, 12 pieces of bacon. "Up in the North," he said, in his thick Bulgarian accent. "This is summer weather."

Tonks nodded in a slow, exaggerated manner, her gaze trailing down his bare chest before she forced herself to focus on her food.

The table fell back into silence, broken only by the fragments of hushed whispers. Hermione tried to eat, but the presence of this living, breathing romance novel book cover was making it hard to concentrate. Even if she pressed the book close to her face, she could still see his arm bulging with veins.

As the minutes passed, Hermione noticed that the chairs around them, which had been empty before, slowly filled up with girls. Most of them weren't from Ravenclaw.

"So," said Ginny Weasley, who had prime real estate at his left elbow. "How'd you get all those muscles?"

"From playing Quidditch, obviously," said her brother Ron, who hovered behind her. "Don't be daft, Ginny."

Boris guzzled some orange juice before answering, all the girls enraptured by his Adam's apple moving up and down.

"First," he said. "You go into a cave, in the dead of winter. You eat nothing but garlic and mugwort for 100 days. When you come out, you are a man."

Tonks was smirking, and Hermione was trying to figure out where she'd read that before. He picked up a piece of sausage with his fingers, and enunciating each syllable, he said. "This is cold."

"Oh! We just learned about heating charms!" cried a Ravenclaw 2nd year, readying her wand.

"No need," he muttered. He stared at the sausage, and it sizzled in his hand. Several students whispered about wandless magic. Hermione, who had learned a thing or two from Harry, looked around to see if anyone else had their wand out and was muttering incantations. She noticed Boris shifting, and then her hand that rested on the table was caught up in Boris's own. His rough fingers felt quite warm to the touch. In his other hand, he held out the steaming sausage out to her.

"Umm…" What did he expect her to do? Was offering people food a part of his culture, or…?

"You are beautiful," he said, his dark gaze intent, his voice deep.

Hermione could feel herself turning bright red, and it didn't help that all the girls were staring at her in speechless indignation and outright jealousy. She jerked up to her feet, breaking contact as the sausage fell to the table. "Ahh," said Hermione, standing. "I…umm…I have to go."

As she beat her retreat from the room, Tonks followed, snickering, "I changed my mind," Tonks whispered. "Go to the Yule Ball with him… Scratch that, next time you see him, you ought to snog him senseless. He offered you his _sausage_ , Hermione."

"He's of age," Hermione spat back, arms crossed protectively. "You take him!"

* * *

Harry was in his dorm room, attempting to complete his Transfiguration homework, but a little fly kept bothering him.

"Hey, Harry, quit ignoring me, you bastard! I'm talking to you."

With a sigh, Harry closed his book and looked up at the offending insect. "What is it, Roger?"

Roger thrust an accusing finger at him. "You stole my secret invisibility spell, didn't you? Tell me how you did it."

"I can neither confirm nor deny that I participated in any such activity." Harry opened his book again, bored of this conversation already. Roger grabbed the book from his hands and flung it across the room.

Harry felt a surge of annoyance. He didn't like people in his personal space in the first place, but Roger had made a habit of crossing that line. "Excuse me, but we are Ravenclaws, and we do not treat books that way!"

Harry had never liked Roger. He acted like he was oh-so-smart, bragging to everyone who would listen about how he sooo great at duelling. Even though he was just a one trick pony who relied on that stupid invisibility spell to win all his battles. On top of that, he was irrational, over-emotional, and generally an insufferable prat. Once, while Harry and Michael were studying for a test, Roger strong armed them into playing Hearts with him, just so he could invite Cho Chang over to play, too. He'd spent the next hour telling awful jokes and making weird noises, and then proceeded to _switch_ the card game in the middle of a hand because he assumed she was bored. And Harry _wanted_ to leave but he _couldn't._

"I know you did it!" cried Roger. "Percy said he saw you turn invisible during the last match you had together. And when I tried to talk to Cho Chang about it, she refused to speak to me. Why wouldn't she talk to me if not for _you_ forcing the secret out of her?"

Harry sighed. Roger was an idiot, and he had a code for how he dealt with idiots.

"First of all, I can think of at least three different reasons why Cho Chang isn't talking to you, and none of them have anything to do with a spell which I allegedly stole from you." _For example, did you mouth breathe all over her?_ "Secondly, Cho Chang would never tell me any secrets, as she is an upstanding, respectable Ravenclaw who is too busy to be involved in my plots. Thirdly, why the heck are you bothering me instead of attending your Potions class?"

Roger's eyes widened, and his accusing finger shook. "Y-you were Cho Chang! You used Polyjuice to pretend to be her, and then you…and then you…" Tears glistened in his eyes. "You pretended to need help and then _I told you the secret_!"

"Wrong." Harry's voice was flat. "I was with the other Ravenclaws, celebrating the selection of Angelina Johnson as our school champion. Pictures from the party should provide sufficient evidence, which you should be able to find from literally anyone else besides me." _Just go away. Shoo fly._

But the Ravenclaw was practically beside himself, breathing heavily. "I don't know how, Harry, but it was you! I always knew you were jealous of my winning streak against the other players, and so you had to take it out against me! Take away the one thing I had over you!" It was like listening to a baby whine. Wah wah.

"Just think, things could have been so different! We could have been friends, Harry!" Roger wiped his sweaty forehead, his face blushing red. "We could have been the dream team!"

In a knee jerk reaction, Harry's brain went, _Euugggghhhh!_

A few months ago, Roger started clinging to Harry like an unwanted growth. He'd grab the seat next to Harry at meal times and during classes, elbowing him and trying to chat him up. He made use of such scintillating lines as, "How was your weekend, Harry? and "Oi, check out that 4th year, is she hot or what?"

Harry had tried to be patient, hoping that ignoring Roger would convince him to go away. The problem was, Harry was under constant threat of attack, since they lived in the _same dorm_.

"So you'd better fess up, or I'll…"

"Or what?" asked Harry, going cold with anger. This had gone on long enough. He. Was. Done. "You know, it's funny how you seem to believe I would have any reason to be jealous of you. I win my games through skill, something you don't possess even a fraction of. If I did steal from you, it would be merely to see if you were stupid and gullible enough to let me."

Harry raised a shield as Roger fired a glowing red hex. Roger slammed his fist against Harry's bedpost. "Fight me, bastard."

"Why?" asked Harry. "You already admitted I'm the better duellist."

"I said, fight me, damn it! This is a formal challenge! You will answer for what you did, even if I have to beat it out of you!"

Harry coolly evaluated the livid boy in front of him.

"Fine," said Harry. "When and where?

"Tomorrow," said Roger. "Three o'clock, duelling room, after class. Bring your weapon of choice."

Harry smirked. "Are you sure you want to do this? I am the Boy-Who-Lived, after all. I turn the world upside down."

He threw up a shield just as Roger fired off a second hex. Harry could feel the spittle as Roger cried out in rage. "Next time you won't be so lucky, Potter!"

Roger stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

* * *

Harry entered the room at 2:55 pm. He'd debated on whether he should show up late to make Roger wait, but Harry decided against it, since he didn't _actually_ believe he was the king of this castle. Harry could admit to himself that he had maybe gone too far in taunting him, but at least the results had been interesting. He had to admit, the guy had some stones to challenge Harry to his own personal version of duelling. He was interested in seeing the weapon that Roger wanted to fight with.

Harry gazed with pride at the duelling room, at Professor Quirrell's legacy. Quirrell had taught them how to fight, and in spite of his successors' incompetence, their training had continued. They'd even made it into a sport of sorts, a modification of Quirrell's armies. They would have matches throughout the year, and those with the highest score would compete on the Ides of May. But as always, the pride he felt in his mentor's influence was muddled with sadness. Professor Quirrell was gone from the world, forever. Though it wasn't his fault, Harry couldn't help blaming himself.

A few minutes later, at 3:00 on the dot, Neville entered the room.

"Hi, Harry," he said, an apologetic expression on his face. "Roger wanted me to tell you that he's not coming to the fight."

"Seriously?" said Harry.

"Yeah, sorry," said Neville. "He said he didn't feel like it would be a fair challenge."

Harry sighed. "Well, it's official, he's just lost every shred of my respect." He noticed the gun shaped object in Neville's hand. "What's that for? Did you have a duel planned too?"

"Actually, I was just going to practice a bit on the dummies," he said, nodding towards the human shaped burlap sacks at the back of the room.

"Oh, well, don't mind me then," said Harry, slinging his weapon over his shoulder, preparing to leave. It wasn't good form to remain in the room while someone else practiced with their charmed weapon. After all, it would spoil the fun if they wanted to use it against you in a duel.

"Wait, Harry," said Neville. "Did you want to fight me instead? I know it's not the same, but since we're both here."

"A magical weapon duel?" asked Harry. "I mean…if you don't mind testing out a new weapon on me."

"It's more fun that way," said Neville, smiling.

Harry returned the smile. He couldn't help but remember that the last time, he had accidentally destroyed Neville's weapon.

"So," said Harry, readying himself into position. "After this, will you still assist me with a science experiment? I'll just need ten minutes."

"Sure," said Neville.

Harry nodded. "Alright, then. On the count of three, two…"

When Neville's gun fired off early, Harry was ready.

Stupid Potter, giving him a countdown. This fight was in the bag.

In magic article duels, you were allowed to bring two things with you into the fight. Your wand, of course, and also a charmed item. It could be used either for defence or offense.

There were restrictions on items that weren't allowed. No time turners, no pouch full of items, no living creatures, and no actual muggle weapons. Harry had always skirted that line, though, so Roger thought he would respond in kind.

Roger had a gun, but it was no ordinary gun. It was a freeze ray. He had worked on it for months in Charms class, though many had told him it was pointless. _Petrificus Totalis_ could do the same thing, and all you needed was a wand. The problem was, that spell required a lot of focus, and it would use up your magic if you kept casting it. With Harry, you needed to keep casting it.

However, his beautiful freeze ray could rapid-fire the spell like a machine gun. It was also virtually unblockable, so Harry couldn't shield himself against it. Roger just needed one good hit. The effects wouldn't last more than 3 minutes, so Roger decided he would just keep freezing Harry until he was good and ready to let him go. _Have you chilled off yet? No? Here, let me help you._

At the start of the countdown, Roger fired his freeze ray. He held down the trigger, preparing a shield with his wand. He thought he was prepared for Harry's onslaught. He didn't expect to feel himself falling towards the ceiling.

As Roger fell, confused and panicked, he realized that high and vaulted ceiling was a _long_ way down. He wracked his brain for a grappling spell, but he couldn't remember before he crashed into the rafter.

"What the hell?" he cried at Harry, who had remained firmly planted upside down on the ground.

"I did warn you," Harry called out, a smirk in his voice.

Enraged, Roger sighted and pulled the trigger, just as his world flipped again, which left him grasping for purchase against the rafter.

Suddenly, his handhold was hit by a _Glisseo_ spell, and Roger slipped off and fell.

" _Gripto_ …No wait! _Durum Tenaci_!" he cried, but the spell failed, and he hit hard the ground hard, busting his nose. He didn't even have time to pick himself up before he was falling again.

This time, he got the spell right, and his feet stuck to the ceiling.

He heaved up the gun, firing into Harry's general position. Harry dived, dodging the spell, then ran along the floor towards shelter. Roger pulled the gun to follow him, and then flailed and fell over as the gravity reversed, dragging him down to the wall behind him.

Roger's hand burned with a stinging hex, and he cried out in pain, almost dropping his wand. Damn Potter! Roger regained his footing, put up a shield spell and started firing again. He only had to hit him once. _Come on, just once!_

Yet, the bastard kept dodging. And whenever Roger got close, gravity shifts would make his shots go wide. At least his weapon fire had pushed Harry away from the shelter of the rafters on the opposite wall.

Then, Roger saw it. His way to win.

He ran towards Harry Potter, grabbing one of the dummy dolls as a makeshift shield and casting a magical barrier. A sense of disorientation made him stumble — _stupid gravity gun_ — but he soldiered on against it. Roger kept firing his gun, forcing Harry into a barren corner of the stone walls. Roger ran hard, focused on keeping his shield up until the last second.

Roger knew something that Harry didn't. He had been practicing for weeks, and he was pretty damn good at rapid-fire spell casting. As he approached Harry, Roger released his shields. His words almost jumbled on top of each other as he cried, " _Conteram Illud! Glisseo! Expeliarmus!_ "

Harry's shield broke and he spun to face Roger, but the _Glisseo_ caused him to stumble. " _Expelliarmus_!" Harry managed to cry in time.

Their wands flew from their hands, just as Roger's finger pulled the trigger.

 _This is it! My shot!_

Gravity reversed, and Roger fell, his shot going wild. He lunged to grab Harry—who should have fallen with him, as he had nothing to hold on to—but instead his hands found empty air. Roger flailed, watching Harry grow farther and farther away from him before he hit the ground.

Roger felt his gun being forcibly ejected from his hand. A tingling sensation crossed his skin as the Polyjuice spell broke. When Harry sauntered over, Roger was seething.

"You bastard! You brought two weapons into the game!"

"Did I?" said Harry. "I cheated at my own game?"

"You flew!" cried Roger. "Or hovered, or something! That's the only way you could have stayed up there. And you can't create a spell like that—it's impossible, even for you!"

"Hum," said Harry. "Well, I'll let you think on that, and maybe you'll come up with a more reasonable solution later on." Harry knelt down beside Roger, grinning smugly. "You claim that I don't fight fair, but even this time, I didn't bother to fight you seriously. If I had, then this fight would have been over in 10 seconds. The reality is, you just suck."

"Go to hell!" spat Roger.

* * *

At dinner that evening, the news had already spread like wildfire. Harry Potter had proven once and for all that he was cheating at duelling, which confirmed what others had always suspected. Harry had explained his side of the story already, and even offered to test himself under Veritaserum, but for some reason, he still looked like the bad guy. It was probably due to Roger Davis shedding tears over it in the common room, but also because Harry wouldn't reveal how he'd won.

Harry sat there, eating his food quietly while the battle raged around him.

"Oh, come on, you know he didn't actually manipulate gravity, right?" said Michael Corner. "He probably just cast the Vertigo hex and then used his charmed item to move Roger around the room."

"Or Harry's item was charmed to fire the hex," said Padma Patil. "And he used a spell to move Roger."

"Give us a hint, Harry," prodded Michael. "Are we at least on the right track?"

Harry took a sip of his soup, and then said, "I will only say this. Even I am not reckless enough to attempt to defy gravity within Hogwarts—there are certain things I don't mess with, and one of them is the fabric of time."

Everyone looked puzzled for a moment, until a 6th year girl groaned. "What does it matter how he did it? It's _obvious_ he brought in two charmed items." She gave Harry a scathing look. "Or else, how did he hang onto that wall?"

"I think there's a spell that can do that," said Anthony Goldstein. "Plasticus…something."

"But Roger cast _Glisseo_ , and Harry didn't have a wand!" insisted another Ravenclaw girl. "So unless Harry was bound to the wall with gecko fingers—"

"Invisible strings!" declared Anthony. "If he attached them to the ceiling, they could keep him from falling!"

"Merlin's beard, are you trying to tell me—"

And so the meal continued. Half the Ravenclaw table waxed poetic in defending him, while the other half (the women) were giving Harry looks that, while he had no romantic interest, still stung, a little.

Harry knew he was in trouble when he stepped out into the hallway after dinner and saw Cedric and Neville, the co-captains of the duelling club, waiting there for him. Wordlessly, he followed them to an empty classroom.

Arms folded, they stared at him for a full minute without saying anything. The wild desire to start humming came over him, but Harry suppressed it.

"So, was it the Vertigo hex?" said Cedric, finally. "With an _Accio_ gun?"

"Yes," said Harry. "The hex causes disorientation, and I used my charmed item to drag him across the room. I did not cheat, though. If Roger had been smart enough, he would have noticed nothing else in the room was falling except for him. Then he could have concocted a counter spell to mine, and he would have been fine."

Harry spent an hour preparing his clothes, hair, and other items so they would cling to him and not give away he was running against gravity. He _could_ have done that to everything in the room, but he figured he'd give Roger a chance.

"The hex is not the issue here, though we have received a lot of complaints about your duelling style," continued Cedric. "Roger is right—you shouldn't have been able to dodge his ray gun. He saw you flying, Harry."

Harry debated whether he should try to convince them that it was just an adrenaline generated hallucination, as it was a rare side effect of the hex. However, he didn't like lying to his friends outright, so he was trying to think of a way to deflect their suspicion without telling them something false.

Unfortunately, his moment of silence told them everything.

"So," said Neville. "Was it worth it?"

"Winning the duel?" asked Harry. "I can't imagine there was any other logical outcome."

"No," said Neville. "Breaking the rules to win the game."

"Well…" said Harry slowly. "I've been meaning to talk to you about that. I understand the reason for the restriction, but what's the point of having a superpower if I can never use it? Roger is free to do the same, if he should somehow find a way to augment his abilities."

"Harry," said Neville, his gaze concerned. "The only wizard who could fly was You-Know-Who. If you go around doing that, you're going to terrify people."

Harry grimaced. It amazed and saddened him how backwards wizards could be about progress. When he had figured out that casting broomstick enchantments on his bones would allow him to fly, he'd been so excited he'd run to show Neville and Cedric. They'd been so freaked out that they'd immediately took him to see McGonagall, who'd sternly warned Harry that he must not do that on school grounds, ever.

For some reason, no one could see past the false analogy. Just because the Dark Lord could fly, didn't mean all flying wizards were dark lords.

"Listen, it's not like I flew around like a bat, or anything. I moved _maybe_ a foot to grasp something on the wall. I've seen drunk wizards jump higher than that."

Yet, even as he plead his case, he knew it was his fault for getting caught up in the game. He should have just knocked the wand out of Roger's hand on one of the numerous occasions that Roger had been distracted, but that would have been boring, like a three move checkmate in chess. Harry had been intrigued by Roger's use of the Polyjuice potion, and had been curious to see what he would come up with if given the chance. Either that, or watch how he crashed and burned.

"You have to make this right, Harry," said Cedric.

Harry nodded. "I'm aware of that. I've already prepared a list of all the mistakes he made in the fight, and I'm thinking I'll sit down with him and offer to help him correct them. As a peace offering."

"Not like that." Neville sighed. "This isn't your first offense, so there must be consequences. Cedric and I have come to a decision. You're going to tell Roger that you're sorry for cheating, and then you'll be banned from the duelling grounds for the rest of the school year."

"What!" exclaimed Harry, leaping to his feet. "That's ridiculous, I didn't cheat—"

"Technically, you did," said Cedric. "Since your bones count as an enchanted object in the game."

"That is so…damn it," said Harry. His Inner Critic was already screaming at him. "Listen, there's another way to fix this, just give me a minute-"

Neville shook his head. "If we don't handle this, it's going to go straight to McGonagall, and then she'll be the one to choose the punishment."

Harry felt like he'd chased a butterfly, and accidentally fallen off a cliff. In the resulting carnage, he had to make a decision. Duelling was the only way for Harry to stave off the inevitable boredom he experienced at Hogwarts, but more importantly, it was the only place he felt _alive_. The one exception to that was the Hogwarts quests, which he would never get access to if McGonagall heard about this. He had so sacrifice one or the other. It was terrible, and completely unfair, but it was obvious what he had to do.

Harry grit his teeth and said, "Fine. I accept these terms. For the record, I'm extremely unhappy about it."

* * *

 _Durmstrang, September 25th, 1995_

Draco didn't know what to expect for his first challenge. Solving a puzzle, such as finding a key that fit into a hidden lock on the fifteenth floor of a mall in Tokyo...that sounded about right. Usually, when a wizard was called to complete a quest, he had to deal with bizarre, cryptic riddles that could require him to travel the world seeking answers. Legend had it that it took years to solve even one of the Empress's challenges.

However, the note he received gave him a quest that was rather straightforward: _Immediately after your 10:30 class, detain Professor Claudia outside her classroom for no fewer than ten minutes._

It was a strange quest, and for any other professor it would be easy, but this was Señora Claudia. She was always in motion, a kind of orbit, between her classroom and her adjacent office. She was an active researcher, so she might leave for weeks at a time to investigate for one of her projects. However, when she was at Durmstrang, she avoided public spaces like the plague. She spent hours pent up in her classroom, frequently ate alone in her office, and he'd even heard she slept in there. In her teaching, she showed herself to be witty and charismatic (not to mention gorgeous), so it puzzled everyone as to why she locked herself away.

Draco had considered a few options to draw her out. He could fake an injury, but she wasn't a doctor or particularly compassionate, and she'd have no qualms about Flooing him to the nurse's office by himself. He could cause a massive scene that escalated into a duel…except he'd seen Professor Claudia look the other way to student fights before. Also, if he was to follow the rule of three for plotting, then he needed his plan to be simple. Adding additional players made it complicated.

For this to work, he needed to make it personally relevant to her. So, the question was, what did Señora Claudia care about that would make her leave her sanctuary?

It took some thinking, and a lot of late nights reading her books, but Draco thought he'd come up with a plan that stood a chance of working.

One morning, after his history class ended, Draco walked up to Señora Claudia's desk. She was already bent over her research, shutting herself off from the outside world.

"Excuse me, Professor?" he asked. "I need to speak with you."

She blinked, her soft blue eyes gazing up at him. "Yes, Draco? Questions about an assignment?"

"No, actually." He shuffled his feet. "Something strange happened last night, and I thought you might know how to help me."

Draco could see his professor tense up, as if growing roots to her desk. "You know, if this is a personal issue…I'm not the best person to talk to."

 _Oh, Merlin._ He shook his head. "No. I saw my father's ghost last night."

This was the tricky part. He knew she was a powerful Legimens, and would detect an outright lie. He needed to build his fake memory out of the truth.

She blinked a few times. "Draco, that's…your father has been dead for years. The only ghosts who survive that long are at Hogwarts."

"I can't explain it either," said Draco, rubbing his forehead, playing up his nerves. "But it's true. He said things in a garbled language that I couldn't make out. I know you're good at finding hidden information, so I—"

Professor Claudia probed his mind, searching his memories for signs of the truth. He let her see his father, standing before the mantle, reaching out to him. He felt her probe the garbled words, and then...she shifted them, rearranging the pieces as if trying to fix the memory.

Draco had studied Occlumency every day for years, practicing with tutors until he bested them every time, and then all at once. Yet, it took every ounce of his mental energy to hold his barrier intact with her. The garbled words were becoming whole, almost clear enough to make out. She was _changing_ them, until it felt like it wasn't even a memory anymore. It was simply reality, imprinted on his mind.

Finally, she relaxed her efforts and studied him in silence. Draco's brain felt numb from the Occlumency, the beginnings of a headache throbbing in his temples. He had the sense she hadn't pushed him as far as she could have, but any more and his brain might have cracked. Her facial expression was blank, and there was no way to tell if she'd seen the truth behind the lie.

"You saw this last night?" she asked, standing up. "At your house?"

Draco made a calculated decision. "Over the summer, actually."

Which was the truth. Just not this year.

"Why did you lie?"

He shrugged. "Can you blame me? I thought you wouldn't help me otherwise, since I haven't been able to contact him since. But I really do need your help, Señora Claudia. I couldn't make out most of what my father said, but I think…I think he was warning me about Bellatrix Black."

His professor's eyes went wide, and she stood very still. "What did you say?"

Draco had read all of Senora Claudia's books, and it was clear she was obsessed with conspiracies, particularly those involving the Black family. Their lineage was rife with intrigue and unsolved mysteries. Sirius Black, the friend of James Potter who had betrayed him to the Dark Lord…or did he really? Andromeda Black, disowned by her family and burned off the family tree, but whose daughter was an Auror that fights dark wizards. Narcissa Black, unexpectedly reunited with her son after ten years hidden in Australia…but why the long absence? Why were her memories hidden for so long, and what were the physicians treating her for at St. Mungos?

But the strangest of all was Bellatrix Black, the right hand of the Dark Lord, who died in her cell in Azkaban, only to be seen riding away on a broomstick. In spite of their best efforts, none of the Aurors could find her, and to this day there were rumours that she still followed the will of Voldemort, who instructed her beyond the grave.

Señora Claudia rounded her desk, approaching Draco and grasping his shoulders. "Have you spoken of this to anyone yet?"

"No."

"Good. Now, there might be a way to get the information we need. I'll have to inspect the area first, see if there's any sign of your father's spirit. If he's there, I'll find him."

With a wince of pain, Draco kept up his Occlumency barrier, but he knew already that they would find nothing. His father's spirit had dissipated years ago.

Draco followed his teacher out the door, but he could have sworn he saw her whispering a spell to the desk before they left.


	10. Not Enough Data

Chapter 10: Not Enough Data

Hermione woke up on Sunday morning, a force pulling her from sleep.

It was the call to adventure.

Hermione rubbed her eyes and pulled the covers off, studying the strange sensation in her chest. She didn't know where the adventure would be, but she knew if she kept following the feeling, it would lead her there. She just…wasn't so sure if she wanted to go.

It took her about a full minute of sleep blurred contemplation before she realized that she was being silly. _Of course_ she wanted to go. Her Gryffindor side absolutely loved adventures. Besides, she got the distinct impression that if she resisted the feeling for too long, it would go away on its own, and the quest would be lost to her forever. Her Ravenclaw curiosity wouldn't allow that. And as for Madam Bones…well, Hermione was just going to have to keep a secret.

As she got dressed and ready, she debated telling Harry about the quest. In spite of his protests, she thought he'd want to go. However, she didn't know if she should reward his behaviour on Saturday.

To his credit, he did seem to have learned something from the duelling incident. His first words to her, after he'd called on the Auror mirror, were exactly, "I wish to inform you of a grave error in judgment that I made, and I hope you will be able to assist me in ensuring it does not occur again." Unfortunately, he'd ruined it afterwards by vowing to incinerate Roger with Fiendfyre if he so much as smirked over Harry's punishment.

It occurred to her that she _could_ just go on her own, tell Harry later, and watch him get jealous over it. But she knew she wouldn't do that. It wouldn't be nice.

She slipped out of the Beauxbatons dorm room, careful not to wake her classmates, and headed towards where the feeling led her. She followed it up several flights of stairs, heading into the deep recesses of the castle. Not knowing where she was going set her on edge, her steps slowing as her gaze darted everywhere. Perhaps the whole escapade was just wishful thinking, and if she went on any farther, she might get sucked into a painting or something…

And suddenly, it hit her without warning. _Fleeing into the upper levels of Hogwarts, heading for sunlight, and then finding that the sunlight meant nothing as the troll roared and lunged for her…_

Hermione braced herself against the wall, staring up the poorly lit stairwell. It was getting easier, over time, to come to terms with the memory of her death. She knew she could kill two trolls singlehandedly now, or at least she was fast enough to run away. Besides, well…at this point, dying an untimely death wasn't the thing that concerned her.

Even so, it took her a minute to calm down. Whether she liked to admit it or not, this was the castle where she died.

 _But someone saved you,_ a voice reassured her. _And now…well, now your life is really weird, but in a good way. Now you can save people too._

 _I know, but…this isn't exactly a good omen for the start of my Hogwarts adventures._

As she ruminated, the gentle spirit of adventure kept nudging her onwards. Hermione sighed.

 _Alright, fine, I'll keep going, but if I see any ravens or headless ghosts I'm getting the heck out of here._

Hermione continued up the stairs, until she heard someone muttering an incantation.

 _Whelp, this was fun, time to go,_ said her hind brain.

She debated for a few seconds before her curiosity got the better of her, and she got up close and used her Auror mirror to peer around the corner.

When Hermione saw who it was, she had to slap a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing. Then, she got a wicked idea, and she couldn't resist.

Throwing the invisibility cloak over herself, she rounded the corner. Using her wand, she changed her voice, and cried, "Harry Potter!"

He jumped, and whipped around, searching for the source of the voice.

"Twenty-nine points from Ravenclaw for stealing! Fourteen points for not being sneaky enough about it!"

"Uhh…"

"And 991 points for having dirt on your robes!"

Harry looked down to inspect them, and Hermione couldn't stifle a chuckle. When he glanced back up, she grimaced, knowing she'd been found out. "Hermione? Is that you?"

"Darn it," sighed Hermione in her own voice, pulling the cloak off. "I was hoping I could keep that going for more than half a second."

He was smiling, partly in relief. "You know, I pulled that same stunt on myself once. Thirteen points for inventiveness, minus two for originality."

She raised her eyebrows. "Careful, Harry. I haven't decided yet if I'll take you."

"Take me where?"

"On the quest. I assume that's what you're here for. I'm not even going to bother asking how you knew where it was. I just assume it's more chaos nonsense."

She was sort of hoping he would tell her anyway, but he didn't. He merely shuffled his feet. "If you do decide to let me go with you," he said. "I can be your wizard guide through the first quest. I have lots of experience due to my illegal pirating of the game."

"Thanks, but I'll be okay. Figuring it out is half the fun."

She stood in front of what she felt to be the doorway, and pointed her wand.

Nothing happened.

She tried flicking it a few times. Still nothing.

After a full five minutes of trial and error had passed, she turned sheepishly to Harry. "What am I doing wrong?"

"Don't feel bad," Harry said. "It took me about an hour the first time."

Hermione really didn't want to spend an hour stuck in the hallway. "Show me."

To his credit, Harry didn't gloat over it. He just came over and guided her wand in the motion that would open the door.

She tried it, and the door opened within the stone bricks before them. "For the record, I could have figured it out eventually."

"I know," he said. "But far be it from the Sunshine General not to accept help from her Lieutenants."

She sighed. "Well, come along then, Harry. And don't cause me any trouble, or else you're going right back out that door."

* * *

Hermione would deny it if anyone ever asked, but she sort of had a crush on Harry Potter.

Of course, back when they were kids, it had been strictly platonic. For a while, she'd doubted whether she even wanted to be friends at all. It was only after she left Hogwarts, and she was crying over missing her friends, that she realized the one she wanted to talk to the most was Harry.

And while taking classes at Beauxbatons, when she tried to start rivalries with any boy she thought was cute, was when she started to be concerned.

But it was only after she'd caught herself saying, "He's alright, but he's not Harry," that she came to the horrifying realization that she was doomed.

At least it wasn't the kind of doom that left her crying at night and writing sad poetry. It was the kind that made her wistful sometimes, when she saw a boy with dark hair, and that made her examine a little too closely what he wrote in his letters. She'd hoped that at some point she'd overcome the crush, and when she hadn't been knocked over by desire when she saw him, she'd become certain it would happen eventually. She and Harry were better off as friends, anyway.

Unfortunately, Hermione was cursed to be a hopeless romantic with an active imagination. Since she was young, she'd had the persistent habit of fantasizing herself as her favourite characters. For example, when she read books with Harry in his laboratory, she couldn't help thinking about Belle and the Beast snuggling with a book by the fireside. Both the castles were haunted by moving objects, so it wasn't that far off the mark.

The most embarrassing one, however, was her near obsession with Wesley from the Princess Bride. Even before she met Harry, she used to daydream about meeting a boy who would respond to all her requests with "As you wish." This disturbed her a bit when she thought about it, but at least it was much tamer than what most of Ravenclaw fantasized about.

Still, it wasn't helping at all that they were wandering through a corridor, so dark that their wands illuminated only two feet in front of them, and so tight that he had his hand around her waist "to save room."

 _Why, isn't it just like the Fire Swamp—no it isn't, stop that._

"I think the exit is there," said Harry, his voice strained. "Good thing too, this is getting cramped."

"Right," said Hermione, ignoring the jolt of electricity that went through her as his arm tightened around her.

They approached a gap, and as Harry bent down a little, Hermione almost gasped in alarm. _He's not going to pick me up princess style, is he?!_

Instead, he shifted positions to let her through the gap first. She stepped into the open space, moving aside as Harry followed behind her.

 _Be cool, Hermione. Keep it together._

Hermione examined the walls of the wide antechamber, carved out of a rough, rock hewn cave. It was pitch black, save the light of their wands. As they got closer, the light glinted off several runes that arched around two doors set in the wall.

Hermione inspected the closest one to her. The runes looked to be made of amber and topaz, and they outlined the door in a haphazard fashion. She tapped her wand to them, but they didn't magically activate. If there was a quest through there, she really hoped they wouldn't have to do the entire thing in the dark.

Harry's door glowed a bright green, and Hermione whirled around to see him examining the pulsing lights, nodding with satisfaction.

She really, really shouldn't have brought him.

Hermione turned to work out the solution to her door, ignoring Harry as he approached her. She needed to solve this one herself, no matter how long it took.

She tried tapping a few stones in ascending order, just to see what would happen. There was no change. She tried in descending order. The doorway glowed a little.

So…maybe the doorway glowed when she got a few stones in the right combination? She tried going down one stone at a time, and it glowed when she tapped between the fourth and fifth stone somewhere near the midway point on the left side of the door.

Didn't the Hufflepuffs have a set of knocks as their common room password? If only she'd taken the time to memorize that, then this might be easier. It would only have taken one afternoon to figure out, but it had seemed wrong, like reading someone's diary.

Hermione tested the stones in the same way on the right hand side of the door, and they glowed when she tapped between the fourth and fifth stone going upwards.

Hermione had always liked geometry, and felt if she were going to design a door riddle, it ought to be symmetrical. On a hunch, she looked for a set of stones that seemed halfway between the top of the arch and tapped them. The stones glowed.

She tried this triplet of stone taps in various orders, and though the door glowed brightly, it still faded. She was about to start checking different combinations with vectors, but got an idea. She bent down and brushed her foot along the floor in the doorway, sweeping away the dust. There were no amber stones, but there was a line of slightly darker stones. Hermione tapped the stones in the middle, and found they glowed when she went from left to right.

She tapped all the stones in a counter clockwise circle, starting from the left side of the doorway and ending at the top. The door shone brilliantly and unlatched.

And then, to her relief, the entire room brightened as torches flared to life, as if they'd finally earned the right to see what they were doing. Hermione turned to Harry, who had stood silently beside her the entire time. Hermione had to admit, she admired his patience.

"Good," he said, with a smile. "Now, what do you think we should do next?"

Hermione glanced around the room, but saw nothing of interest besides the doors. She might go around and check, but that could wait. "An easily accessible riddle that only requires a bit of patience." She gestured towards her glowing yellow door. "That makes sense for a Hufflepuff quest. And your door leads to a Slytherin quest, I'm guessing?"

"Yes," said Harry.

"That's weird. I thought we would be getting Ravenclaw quests."

Harry shrugged. "I received those more often than Hufflepuff, but it's random."

"Hmm. Are we allowed to double back to take both quests?" asked Hermione.

"I don't think so," said Harry. "I've never been able to do that. Once you choose the path, you're set."

Hermione nodded. "Well, then I've decided. We'll sweep the cave, and then go on the Hufflepuff quest."

Harry was quiet for a moment, looking rather uncomfortable.

"What's wrong?" said Hermione. "You don't want to do the Hufflepuff quest?"

"Well…" he rubbed the back of his head. "See, it's like this, Hermione. Most of the quests come in three categories. Easy, medium and hard. Hufflepuff quests, on the other hand, come in two. Annoying, and more annoying."

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "Why? I mean, it's not Ravenclaw, but it can't be that bad. I'm honestly more concerned about what that Slytherin quest entails."

"What? Slytherin quests are awesome."

"Hmm," she glanced at his door, with stones shaped oddly like screaming skulls. "Nope, not happening. We're doing the Hufflepuff quest."

"Well, I mean, you can, but I won't. Sorry, but I can't put myself through it again."

She sighed. "Fine, stay here or go back. We're not taking the Slytherin quest."

When he didn't answer, she realized. "The doorway out is locked isn't it?"

"You're stuck with me until we finish. Which is why I think—"

"Uggh, I can't believe you! If you're my Lieutenant, why can't you just do what I tell you to do? That's what we agreed to when I took you on this quest in the first place."

"Uhh…actually, in the Chaos army, it was more like a mutual agreement to follow orders, unless you didn't feel like it. But, I mean, I still respect you, and I think you should do what you want. I'm just going to do my quest alone. Sorry I can't be with you, but we'll meet at the end and compare quest prizes."

Hermione balled her hands into fists and squeezed. She refused to be angry about something so silly. Yet, she could hear her voice shake as she said, "You hate the Hufflepuff quests so much you'd rather go on your own than with me?"

His mouth fell open. "It's not…I mean, if it were a life and death situation I would go with you, but it's just a game. It'll be more fun for both of us this way, and both of us get what we want. I wouldn't force you to go on a Slytherin quest, so I don't understand why—"

Without another word, Hermione turned on her heel and strode through the quest door.

* * *

 _Stupid feelings. Stupid, stupid feelings. I wish I could just turn them off like Harry Potter does._

She walked down the corridor (brightly lit this time), contemplating her stupid feelings.

 _I mean, it's not like he has to spend all his free time with me. It's not like we're a couple. I don't even like him, anyway._

She arrived in a small room. It was a greenhouse, and the clear walls were translucent, filtering in the light of the noon day sun. In the middle of the room stood a cluster of potted plants in various states of wilting.

The problem, Hermione thought as she watered the plants, was unmet expectations. Hermione didn't really expect Harry to follow all her orders to the letter, but she'd assumed he would choose spending time with her over not. Even if he had to go on an "annoying" Hufflepuff quest. What was so bad about tending plants, anyway? Couldn't they have talked together while they worked, and maybe joked about the annoying parts? She wouldn't have even minded so much if he wanted to explain how to solve the puzzles.

After all, the only reason why she asked him to accompany her was because she _wanted_ to spend time with him.

 _Though, if I'm being honest with myself, I know that Harry has always been rather independent. It's not necessarily a sign that he doesn't like me as a friend, or as…more than that._

As soon as her mind brought up the "Does he like me?" question, the next response was always, "I don't care, it doesn't matter, and no way am I asking him."

Simultaneously, her brain would bring up every instance of when he'd acted like he'd liked her, versus when he didn't, and calculate them using a measuring system she didn't really understand, before spitting out the answer, "Inconclusive. Needs more data."

 _Is that so? Well, I don't care. We're not going down this road, it only leads to hurt. Also, I'm not asking him._

She finished watering the plants, and went on to testing the soil. Probably should have started with that, but whatever. She found that two of the plants required red clay soil, so she carefully uprooted them and set them in fresh dirt. Afterwards, she moved another plant that was too big for its container. Finally, she shuffled a few plants around that needed to be out of direct sunlight, applied the appropriate pesticide charms, and waited.

Was a door supposed to…unlock or something, after she finished the quest? What if she couldn't finish? Would she be trapped for a few hours or…until Harry finished and alerted the Aurors? That would just be embarrassing.

She could try to break the glass, but she had a feeling this wasn't a real greenhouse.

Finally, she thought about what a real Hufflepuff might try to do to resolve this quest. The idea that came to her was ridiculous, but…"Umm, plants, do you like being talked to or something? I'll tell you all a story and if you like it, maybe you could brighten up a bit…okay?"

She told the plants a silly story, made up on the spot, and when she finished, the door on the far end unlocked.

"Well, alright then," said Hermione with some bewilderment, before heading to the next quest.

* * *

Harry stood, his wand lowered to his side, while the 7 foot tall troll let out a booming laugh, whacking his lit torch against his thigh.

"Listen, we both know I'm going to find a way past you," said Harry. "So it would be much appreciated if we could skip the pointless banter."

"Oh, right. I'll let you pass." There was a momentous pause. "If you lick my torch! Mwahahaha!"

Harry rolled his eyes. He didn't like trolls on principle, but forest trolls were particularly obnoxious. (Technically, it was probably something of a troll/giant/human mix, but Harry thought troll fit best). Unfortunately, he couldn't just hex him into silence, because the troll still hadn't told him the password to the exit behind him.

"Hey. Hey Harry," said the troll. "I heard your mom was a witch too."

Harry didn't say anything, and just waited.

"But she was so fat," he said, his voice rising, "She got sorted into all four houses! Mwahahaha!"

"Really original," said Harry.

"In fact, she was so big," said the troll. "Her Patronus was a cheesecake!"

The troll bellowed at his own joke a few moments, and then he said, "But, it's not all bad. There was one thing she was good at—"

"Hey," barked Harry. "How many wizards does it take to psychoanalyze a troll?"

"How many?"

"One, if he's psychic. Which, by the way, I am."

Harry wasn't entirely sure where he was going with this, but his time was limited. One of the parameters of this quest was that he could not use magic on the troll. It was a Slytherin quest, and he had to convince the troll to let him through. About a month ago he'd read about techniques that psychics used to extort money from people, and since then he'd been curious to try it out.

Worse came to worse, he would just find another way to blackmail him.

"Ha ha! Your head is full of dung," said the troll.

"You do know who I am, don't you?" said Harry, pointing to his scar. "The same one who gave me this scar, also gave me my unique abilities. I can look into your past, if you let me."

The troll adjusted his weight, leaning against his right leg and crossing his arms, as if he wasn't brushing a searing torch against his elbow. "Go on, then," he said, his voice gruff.

Harry, channelling the Trelawney vibe, brought his fingers to his temples and started humming softly. He couldn't mimic her voice, though, that was just too much.

"There was a girl in your life, someone very important to you. I sense…I sense that she was hurt somehow. It could be physical, or emotional, and it caused a rift between you."

The troll's eyes narrowed, a hurting, defensive move.

Harry wasn't actually reading the troll. He just reasoned that if the troll had lived long enough, and if he was rather stupid, there was a girl in his past who had gotten hurt. Of course, this might only be true because his mental construct of "troll" told him it should be this way, and thus, this was the troll his quest created.

"Her name…I think it starts with an M."

Most troll names, from what he remembered, had an M somewhere.

"Merideth," the troll sighed.

"Yes, Merideth. I can see her. She was full of life, though she could be shy sometimes. She had great potential, even if she couldn't see it." He saw the troll's eyes soften a bit. "She reminded you a lot of yourself."

He shook his head. "We were very different. Complete opposites."

"Yes, but she was like a mirror of who you wished you could be."

The troll let out a small "hmm" sound. Harry went on. "You miss her, and I sense that it is a burden to you."

The troll twirled the torch between his hands, a pouting expression on his face. "Of course I miss her. She was the light of my life."

Harry hadn't really expected it to work this fast. Mental construct, yada yada.

"I can tell. She misses you too, in her own way." He rubbed his temples, along his scar. "I can see her, in my mind." Harry frowned. "Oh…wait a minute."

"What? What's wrong?" asked the troll, a hitch in his voice.

"When you last saw her, was she in good health?"

He had to make sure she wasn't dead, or else his plan wouldn't work.

"Of course, sh-she's always been strong." The troll was trying and failing to hide his panic. "Is something wrong?"

"Do you have an item that belonged to her? I need it to sense her, much of my magic is blocked in here."

The troll felt around his pockets, and then handed Harry a blue handkerchief, "This is all I have."

Harry took the handkerchief, and closed his eyes for a long time. He waited until the troll started fidgeting, and finally he roared, "Tell me! Is she sick? Is she hurt?"

Harry lifted his head, a grave look on his face. "I'm so sorry to tell you this. Something bad will happen to her, and soon. The good news is, she is close. We can find her and warn her."

"I cannot go!" cried the troll. "I am trapped here, and she would not believe me anyway!" The troll clawed at his face, in a way that made Harry nervous. "Send her a message with your psychic powers! Warn her!"

Harry shook his head. "My powers are weak here. This place is warded against the use of magic. But if you allow me to pass, I can find her."

"You—you—" Some part of the troll's "guard" programming kicked in, because his eyes narrowed as he said, "How do I know you're not just trying to get free?"

Harry shrugged. "I suppose you don't. However, consider this. If you keep me here, you gain nothing. If you let me pass, you can avert disaster. But I will promise that if you set me free, I will warn her. It requires little effort from me, and I have no wish for her to come to harm."

The troll swallowed, his jaw working as his fingers gripped the torch so hard it started to make creaking noises. Harry was _really_ happy he didn't have to fight him.

"Come!" barked the troll, and Harry trailed after him as the troll stormed to the back of the room. "Jrrriiigoolllboooopeeeee!" cried the troll, and the door opened.

The troll whirled back to Harry. "Go in, and take one fruit. One. Then, exit the door that opens on your right. Quick, go!"

Harry was shoved inside, and as he pitched forwards into the dark room, the door banged shut behind him.

* * *

Hermione was on her fourth Hufflepuff quest, and two seconds away from going completely mental.

The first quest with the plants hadn't been too bad. Relaxing, even. However, on her second quest, she'd had to feed and care for 15 unidentifiable fluffy creatures, who were the definition of pain in the neck. They constantly demanded things—food, water, cleaning, etc. If they weren't perfectly happy and satisfied, they let out a high pitched whine. And to make matters worse, they seemed to create problems for themselves by knocking their food bowl over (wahhh!) or peeing on their bed (wahhh!) and Hermione had to drop whatever she was doing to clean it up. After an hour, the game mercifully released her.

The next game was hard to figure out, but through trial and error, she realized it was mind numbingly simple. She had to keep ants on a log. If they fell off, they would go in the water and drown. That was it.

Holding the log steady and corralling the ants with her fingers wasn't difficult, except that her robe was getting soaked and the ants (and mosquitos) kept trying to bite her. The worst part, however, was that nearby water pixies kept cackling and making fun of her. Sometimes they would call her names and then buzz by her ear, laughing and throwing mud. Finally, in a fit of rage, Hermione hexed one of them and it exploded. Unfortunately, this reset the game, and she had to deal with their terrible antics all over again. She was at the point of wanting to pull her hair out when the game finally ended.

Hermione was now attempting what she hoped and prayed was the last quest. She had to climb a rock wall. Not just any rock wall, however. It was covered with disgusting pink goo that looked like chewed bubble gum. Halfway up, the goo started talking to her (because of course it was sentient) about all of its emotional problems, including crippling loneliness and an existential crisis about its purpose in the world. Hermione had to assist the goo with finding its lost ring of power (hidden in some random, tiny rock crevice) before she was finally allowed to finish climbing.

As she lifted herself over the edge of the wall, she was thinking, _In what messed up version of the universe is this teaching me Hufflepuff traits? I just want to murder everything. This quest prize better be good, and I mean seriously good, or else I really will go mental._

The final quest door opened, revealing a dark room with a golden chest. Hermione unlatched it, and it creaked open.

She had thought nothing would surprise her at that point. She was wrong.

* * *

Harry was standing in front of the huge, glowing, crystal tree in the middle of the dark room.

 _You know,_ said his Slytherin side. _There doesn't seem to be anyone stopping us from taking more than one._

 _That sounds an awful lot like something you say before you die,_ chimed in Slytherin 2. His other voices didn't have much to say, so Slytherin just argued with himself.

 _We're not going to die,_ said Slytherin 1. _The game doesn't kill students._

The fruit hanging off the tree sparkled, clearer than diamonds. Light seemed to dance inside it. He had no idea what the fruit was, which was exactly why he needed it.

He touched the ground surrounding the tree roots. It was hard granite, as if the tree had sprung up from the bedrock itself. This meant Harry was about as likely to grow his own tree as he was to sprout green hair.

 _Just so you know, I need three of these,_ said Ravenclaw. _One for me, one for my research, and one for Hermione._

Harry calculated how quickly he could grab the fruit, and divided it by how badly he wanted it.

 _The only proof we have that something bad will happen is that the dimwitted troll told us not to,_ said Slytherin 1. _What's the worst that could happen?_

 _Umm. Our fruit could disintegrate in our hands. The tree limbs could smite us. The walls could cave in. Did you learn nothing from reading books? It's the universal karma assigned to greedy adventurers._

 _Yes, but…_

 _But nothing, s_ aid Slytherin 2. _This is my quest, and you're listening to me. Do not break the quest rules._

 _Well, I'm not listening to you._

 _Yes, you will. Face it, this is a perfect instance of Nash's Equilibrium. You're not going to risk losing your one certain prize to the possibility of gaining three. You don't value the fruit as much as your safety, not to mention winning the game._

 _Oh jeez, it's not Nash's Equilibrium at all, because that requires two players with—_

JUST GRAB THE FRUIT ALREADY said Harry's Inner Critic.

Grumbling, Harry plucked his one measly fruit off the tree. The wall opened to his right, the sun beginning its descent in the sky over Hogwarts.

Sometimes, the quest would drop you off where you started. Other times, it would lead to a different corridor in the castle. Occasionally, for its own inscrutable reasons, it left you outside on the school grounds. Perhaps it knew when you needed to vomit.

Nearby, he caught sight of Hermione, sitting cross-legged on a small hill and demolishing grass with her fingers.

"Hi, Hermione," said Harry, walking over to her. "How…ummm…how did it go?"

Hermione, with a hollow look in her eyes, merely shook her head. Her fingers ripped up another blade of grass.

"That bad, huh?" said Harry, taking a seat beside her. They were silent a moment, then Harry pulled his quest prize from his pouch. "Here, look at this."

Hermione took it carefully, turning it in her hands, watching the light catch. "It's beautiful." Her voice was mournful. "Better than my quest prize."

"Why? What did you get?"

Hermione stiffened, and then slowly reached for the sack beside her. She handed it to him, and then turned away.

The bag was surprisingly heavy. Releasing the drawstring, he opened it, and stared.

He had seen enough R rated TV shows to be shocked at the quantity of white powdered bricks she'd hauled out of there.

"Umm…Hermione," he said, his lips twitching.

"I don't even know, Harry," said Hermione, her voice trembling as her face flushed red. "But if this is what it looks like, then I quit."

"Well, if this is what it looks like," said Harry, keeping his voice deadpan, "then we're rich."

"Harry!" she cried, and he laughed.

"Congratulations on getting your first questionable quest item," he said, as she buried her face in her hands. He patted her on the back. "Don't worry, it's probably nothing bad."

"I don't care," she mumbled. "This day has been absolutely miserable. I hate the Hogwarts quests."

"Well, I'd recommend withholding judgment until you try the Ravenclaw quests. Those are usually pretty great. In the meantime," he said, gesturing towards the sack of suspicious white powder, "do you want me to take this off your hands? You can keep my item if you like."

Hermione sighed, then rubbed her eyes. "I don't care about the prizes. Honestly, I just wanted to relax and have fun with you. I think, if you had been with me, even the Hufflepuff quest might have been more bearable." She shrugged, and said in a tired voice. "But if you really want the quest prizes, then from now on, I'll just open the quest door for you to play instead."

"Oh," said Harry. Now he felt like a real tool. Some part of him had held on to the idea that this was just a competition for her, and she wouldn't care if he was around or not. After all, since she'd avoided him for weeks, he didn't actually believe she would miss him.

"Merlin says," said Harry.

"Huh?" asked Hermione.

"In my armies, if I said, 'Merlin says," that meant it was a real order. So, next time, if you really want me to do something, that's all you have to say."

Hermione was quiet a moment. "Anything? Even…Hufflepuff quests?"

Harry grimaced. "Well, within reason. If you are in the mood for a Hufflepuff quest, I'd like you to let me know beforehand, so I can decide not to go."

Hermione smiled, her gaze on her feet in front of her. "Merlin says, do the quest with me next time…if you want."

Harry nodded. "Alright. Done."

He fed the powder sack to his pouch, and then offered Hermione a hand up. They walked back to the castle, Hermione playing with frayed edge of her sleeve. "Are you alright?" he asked.

"Yes, I just don't feel well."

Harry checked his watch. "It's almost time for dinner. Looks like we missed lunch. Hmm, maybe that's why you're feeling so queasy."

"Maybe," said Hermione softly.

* * *

Notes:

Generals Sunshine and Chaos: In their first year, Harry and Hermione were generals in Quirrell's Armies. Harry went by the name "General Chaos," and pulled a lot of crazy, inventive stunts to win games, typically strategizing alone. Hermione went by "General Sunshine," and she often relied on the support of her lieutenants to come up with plans. Harry promoted free thinking and utter chaos in his army, and Hermione promoted teamwork and fair play.

They never worked together in one army, but I imagine if they did, Hermione would have been so annoyed at Harry coming up with all the ideas, and Harry would have kept trying to take control. Probably would have crushed the competition though, lol.


	11. Time Warp

Chapter 11: Time Warp

 _To achieve great things, two things are needed; a plan, and not quite enough time._

— _Leonard Bernstein_

Dean Thomas had been worried that the device he'd bought at the Muggle hardware store wouldn't work at Hogwarts, just like most other electrical appliances.

Well, it worked fine. In fact, it was screaming.

Seamus Finnigan covered his ears. "I think we've made our point about the ghosts," he said. "Can we go? Please?"

"I wish I could take video," sighed Dean. "I don't think Harry will believe me otherwise."

When Dean had mentioned his idea to examine the paintings of Hogwarts with an EMF detector, Harry had said something about ghosts not actually being real, and that any anomalous readings were probably related to other forms of electromagnetic activity in Hogwarts, or just the fact that they were jiggling the device too much.

But, as Dean's experiment seemed to show, the EMF detector lit up and whined all over Hogwarts, but seemed to combust with tension when approaching a painting. He wrote down his readings from the meter and turned the device off.

"Right, so I think I have enough data," said Dean, his eyes scanning his page full of notes. The thing that bothered him the most was that his readings frequently crossed into the to the red danger zone.

"Oh good, finally," said Seamus, frowning as he rubbed behind his aching ears. "We've been walking all day. I'm starving and it's not even lunch time yet."

They headed back to the science lab, where they would do the other necessary part of science experiments: write a boring report. Fortunately, Seamus didn't actually mind doing that part, which is why they were a perfect team.

"So, what do you think the readings mean?" asked Dean, wondering if his friend's opinion would be different from his own.

"Well, clearly there's a lot of _something_ in Hogwarts, especially in the paintings, that's setting the meter off. It doesn't really prove that it's electromagnetic, though. The device whined a lot when we pointed it at a bowl of water."

"True," said Dean. He'd bought the cheap EMF reader, and was regretting it now. "That means our next step will be to determine what sort of energy is causing the EMF spikes, and go from there."

"Yeah," said Seamus, sighing. "You know, Muggle boys don't have to work so hard to use Gameboys."

Well, that was their end game, but…Dean sort of was committed to this for other reasons now. This was his quest, and he was determined to beat it. It was almost as fun as winning a duel against a Slytherin.

Dean and Seamus opened the door to the lab, taking a moment to appreciate their jokes on the doorway. They'd jinxed the disappearing ink so Harry would never see, hoping that whenever people mentioned it in conversation, he would just look confused.

Inside, they saw Padma Patil standing at a work table, tapping her wand against a small brown bead, her gaze focused.

"Hey, Padma," said Dean, setting down the meter and all his notes on an empty desk, then climbing the steps to the work area. "Oh wow…is that what I think it is?"

Padma responded with, "That depends. What do you think it is?"

Dean got closer, inspecting the nondescript, completely mundane miracle she was working on. "Your extendable ears. Did you get one to work?"

Padma glanced at him, then shrugged. Her voice was softer than normal when she said, "I'm still trying to perfect it, but it gets the job done."

"Wow, that's awesome, Padma!" Dean firmly believed that Padma was at least as intelligent as Harry, and possibly as smart as Hermione. "I always knew you could do it."

Padma, her gaze fixed on the table, smiled just a little, before returning her wand to the gadget. "Do you want to see how it works?"

"Yeah, of course," said Dean.

"Oy, Dean," called Seamus, rummaging in Dean's bag. "Mind if I steal some of your snack bars?"

"Sure," said Dean, as Padma handed him her bead. "So, what do I do with this?"

"Just hold it," she replied. Padma took a second bead from a pouch, tapped it with her wand, and then walked to the other side of the room. Cupping her hand around the bead, she whispered, "Testing, 123."

Dean had the bead in his hand. Yet he heard her clearly, as if she were whispering directly into his ear. "Nice! Let me try," said Dean, and whispered to the small bead.

"I can't hear you," said Padma. "It only goes one way."

"Ahh, right of course," said Dean, feeling stupid. "You wouldn't want your target to hear you, after all."

Padma retrieved the bead, and said, "Actually, in some cases that's preferable, if you needed a communication device. I could modify it to work as an earpiece, but it might take a while."

Dean leaned against the table, studying Padma as she put the beads away in a small pouch. "Are you going to sell your patent to the Weasleys?"

"I'm not sure," said Padma. "Once I finish testing, I might. But I want it to be perfect first."

"How will you test it?" said Dean.

"I've already done one field test. Harry wanted me to spy on one of his duelling mates for information. It worked reasonably well that time, though I couldn't retrieve the bead afterwards. This would have been a problem if the target realized what happened."

Dean sighed. It was obvious who Harry must have spied on. He wasn't surprised, but he was a little disappointed in Harry. "Maybe we should give Roger's intelligence a little more credit, since he's been right about everything so far."

"Yes. Well…I've thought about telling Roger what we did," said Padma, her forehead creasing in doubt as she slung her bag over her shoulder. "But I know Harry wouldn't like it."

Dean winced. Underneath their camaraderie, all the group members knew that you didn't cross the Lord of Chaos. "Yeah, I'd be scared to get on Harry's bad side."

"I'm not," said Padma. "That was the last time I'll spy on classmates for him. If he goes too far again, I'll tell him so. He's not as powerful as he pretends to be."

Dean smiled. He knew there was a reason he liked Padma.

* * *

Normally, the group met on Friday afternoons, but this Monday, Harry called a special meeting. The only information the group was given was that there was an "unusual" discovery.

Upon entering the room, the seven available members lounged in desks nearby, several of them munching on the snacks that were always available. Harry's extensive research showed that attendance and participation increased in direct proportion to the amount and quality of snacks, with the highest rated being "pizza day."

At 4:05 pm, when it was clear everyone was in attendance, Harry set a bag down with a thunk that shook the desk. "This is an actual quest item," he announced, with a smirk. "Discuss."

The group all gathered around to inspect the contents of the bag. They wasted no time with moralizing over how he had obtained the illegal looking substance, and skipped straight to the wisecracks.

"Caramba," said Seamus, clapping Harry on the back. "You did good, mi hermano."

"I vote we rename ourselves the Godfathers of Hogwarts," said Dean. "And carry around cigars at all times."

"Seconded," said Anthony. "Next order of business, after we liquidate this into sweet amounts of cash, is to figure out how we're going to make all this money look legal. Which one of us is old enough to open a bank account in Curaçao?"

"Me! Now how about we test this product?"

"Gentlemen," said Harry, a genuine smile on his face now. "I appreciate your enthusiasm, but I would like to warn you that this is not what it looks like. I was able to confirm that using a few…science experiments." Several of the boys chuckled. "By which I mean, of course, experiments with colour change reagents such as Scott's and Menke's. Now, who remembers how to determine the identity of an unknown substance?"

Several people suggested testing for physical properties, such as colour, texture, melting point and boiling point. Other students pointed out that this method generally didn't work as well on many common magical substances.

"Actually, there is a way to combine the two strategies," said Harry, and hefted an enormous book from his pouch. Several students jumped from the sound of it hitting the desk. "Now, let's get started."

* * *

Hermione's week passed without incident, with most of her time spent studying and reading. She could sense Professor McGonagall's relief when Transfiguration class went on without any major incidents. On Thursday evening, Hermione held a tutoring session in the Gryffindor common room. While she enjoyed tutoring in general, working with 1st year Muggleborns was especially rewarding. Every new thing they learned about magic completely blew their minds. "Wow! You can levitate people with _Wingardium Leviosa_?" "Teach me the laughter jinx!"

In the middle of a laughter battle which was getting out of hand, Hermione got a message on her Auror mirror. It was from Harry, and it read, _Please come to the lab. I need you desperately._

 _See,_ she thought with a bemused smile. _If I didn't know better, I would say he's making a proposition that any respectable girl ought to decline. But, knowing Harry, he's probably in the middle of some science related dilemma and forgot to double check the message._

 _On the other hand,_ thought Hermione, as she made her way to the lab. _If there are rose petals on the floor when I get there, and sultry jazz music playing…_ Hermione chuckled. _He would say, "Hey baby, want to do some science together?"_

Hermione walked into the lab and saw…

A mess.

Books and random objects strewn all over the room, papers hovering in mid-air, and a charred hole in the wall near the bookshelf. As Hermione carefully stepped into the room, hoping everything was done blowing up, she called out, "Harry?"

He appeared from around a corner of the wall, black soot all over him, his frantic gaze looking like he'd survived a war. "Hermione!" he cried staggering over to her. "I can't take it anymore! I tried everything!"

"Why? What's wrong?"

He ran a shaking hand through his frazzled hair. "I've tried protection spells, bubblehead charms, accio spells, anti-jinxes, confounding myself, blowing things up and just…just…I can't get the cursed item out of my closet!"

Hermione glanced uncertainly at the floating paper near Harry's invisible closet. "Is it safe to go over there?"

"Yes," said Harry, though he didn't sound convinced.

Hermione crossed the room to the wall, pulled out her wand, and cast a simple detection spell. "I think I found something."

"What? What is it?" he asked anxiously.

"Your room is jinxed with a petrification spell. It's a bit complex, but not very strong. I'm going to get rid of it—"

"What the—" Harry stuttered. "I checked for jinxes! I even checked for anti-anti jinxes!"

Hermione frowned. "Try casting the spell yourself."

Harry did so, and his jaw dropped.

"It's…it's not real!" He whirled on Hermione. "You're not real! You're just something else my closet produced to mess with me!"

"Harry, calm down," said Hermione.

"I was stuck in there, cumulatively, for almost 24 hours!" cried Harry. "And you're telling me now that…that I was just petrified and didn't know it! And I couldn't even sense the jinx until another person cast the spell for it!" Harry put his head in his hands and stood still for a very long moment, his breathing laboured. Finally, he whispered. "I don't want to even think about all the stuff I destroyed trying to get the cursed item that…probably doesn't exist." He laughed bitterly. "All that time and energy wasted on just a very clever jinx."

Hermione felt like Harry needed a hug, but she didn't think he'd like it until he calmed down more.

"How long has this been going on?" asked Hermione gently.

"Four weeks," muttered Harry. "Remember, you were the one who wrote the note that suggested time dilation."

"I…did?" said Hermione, frowning. "I don't remember that. I remember you disappearing into the room, and when I knocked you said you were busy and to come back later. Anyway, if I were to message you, I would have used the Auror mirror."

Harry reached for his pouch, saying rapidly. "Notes supposedly from Hermione Granger." Hermione couldn't see what was written on the notes he read, but as he refolded it, his face was transformed by cold anger. "Oh. I see. Very funny. When I figure out who did this, they will be crushed into a fine powder until there won't be enough left to bury."

Hermione rested a hand on his shoulder, leading him to a chair. "Harry, please. Before you start plotting revenge, let's clean you up and get you something to eat. You look terrible."

He sat down and cast the cleaning spell on himself, which fixed everything except his gravity defying hair. Hermione pulled a muffin from her pouch and a juice bottle and handed them to Harry.

"Thanks," he muttered, and bit into the muffin, chewing with a sullen expression.

Hermione (carefully, after assuring herself there were no explosive traps) cast the counter jinx to petrification. It didn't work, and she stood there a moment, thinking. Most jinxes required knowing the counter jinx to fix them, but low level jinxes built up to high level ones. If you cast a counter jinx to a low level curse, and it was partially effective, then you'd have some idea which higher level jinx you were dealing with.

She decided to start from the bottom and work her way up. She cast the spell _Sanus Rectifico_ , which scrubbed away the most basic jinxes and spells, clearing the area for further diagnostics—

And…that worked. The "petrification" jinx was gone. Hermione blinked. What kind of basic jinx could make Harry desperate enough to blow up his closet?

Hermione cast _Scourgify_ to clean up the worst of the mess in the closet, but couldn't fix the scorch marks in the wall. Peering at Harry's shelves, she could see why he hadn't been surprised at her unusual quest item, and she was _very_ concerned about the black ooze dripping out of the XXX potion bottle.

"Well?" asked Harry, as she returned to the table. "How bad is it in there?"

"Ehh...I'm not going to lie, you might want to clean it quickly before you burn holes into your floor."

Harry groaned and thumped his head on the table.

"You probably shouldn't…umm…do that," said Hermione with concern.

He raised his head with a sigh. "Who knows, maybe it will make me less stupid."

They were silent for a few seconds as Harry mechanically ate his food.

"I don't understand," said Hermione. "If you were having so much trouble, why not call a professor? If you'd called me earlier, I would have helped."

Harry shook his head. "I couldn't call a professor, they would have too many questions about the stuff in my closet." Harry rapped his fingers on the desk. "And, while hindsight proves otherwise, at the time I had a strong plan of attack I thought would work. I certainly couldn't tell _you_ because you would solve the problem yourself."

Hermione smiled a little. "Well…I would have given you the chance first."

He snorted. "Oh really? Last time we played Trivial Pursuit, you kept calling out the answers."

That brought out a blush, and she stammered, "It was only because it was the 1950s edition, and you _know_ that one is the hardest."

Harry sighed, finishing the muffin. "I don't get who would do this. I mean, the Weasleys definitely could, but I'm their business partner, so it's against their interests. Roger has motive, but he didn't when this jinx was cast. Blaise or Neville could have done it, but they have almost negative levels of motivation, and to be honest I need to stop suspecting Blaise for everything."

"I don't know," said Hermione, shrugging. "Maybe you should just let it go."

Suddenly, Harry was looking at her very suspiciously.

"What?" asked Hermione.

"You had the opportunity, when I was alone in my closet, to cast the jinx. You were also the only person able to detect the jinx. Neville couldn't, when I asked him a few days ago." He folded his arms. "You certainly have the skill, and you don't really need a motive besides…" He blinked, straightening up. "The rivalry! _That_ explains it. You cast the jinx, then started the rivalry so I wouldn't suspect…oh, that's very clever."

He was gazing at her as if he'd never seen her before, and she suddenly felt nervous.

"Listen," she stammered. "If I wanted to prank you that badly, I suppose I _could_ have done it, but you know I would have felt bad after a few hours and fixed it."

"Would you?" he said, bemused. "Or is that just the persona you've adopted to trick me?" He leaned back, studying her, his mouth twitching into a grin. "I must say, it would be very interesting if you had gone full Slytherin. Tell me, Hermione, how many masks do you have?"

For a second, Hermione considered playing along with him, pretending to be a Sneaky Slytherin Hermione. But then he might actually believe her, and she _really_ didn't want to start a pranking war.

"Just use _Legimens_ , Harry," said Hermione, shrugging her shoulders. "As a trainee Auror, I'm not allowed to learn Occlumency, in case I have to witness at a trial."

Harry stared at her for a long moment, then sighed and shook his head. "I'm not going to use _Legimens_. The fact that you offered is enough…oww!"

He cursed and shoved the offending book from under the table, grimacing. Hermione, who couldn't leave a book on the floor, picked up the large volume.

 _Bartimus Bailey's Index of Magical Powders, Dusts and Aerosols_

 _Everything you need to know, whether you believe it or not_

"Just throw that in the acid with everything else," said Harry.

"Why?"

"It's completely useless," he replied. "Did you know that there are over 50,000 magical powders in existence, and 1/5th of them are white? In that case, wouldn't it make sense to categorize them by properties, to make them easier to identify? And shouldn't there should be some standard method of testing their identity, such as boiling point or solubility in water?"

Hermione nodded.

"Well, all of these are listed alphabetically, and there are no charts. It's exactly like a dictionary. Not to mention, each one has a unique method of identification, such as boil for 2 minutes and bombard with the sound of screeching eel. The only way to make this book more counter-intuitive would be to write it all in Sanskrit. Which means that the only explanation I can come up with it that high level wizards have a spell that facilitates database access, and they don't want to share it."

Hermione opened her mouth.

"And before you ask, I have checked out other magical indexes, and they're just as bad or worse. I also asked Flitwick and McGonagall, who informed me that if there were such a thing as a magical mass spectrometer, it would be considered highly dangerous magic and could not be purchased by a Hogwarts student."

"What about Professor Sprout? I'm sure the Hufflepuffs have some kind of finder spell for this sort of thing."

"Ha ha," said Harry, smiling sadly. "If you want to find something you forgot, or something you lost, then yes. Beyond that, no." He sighed, rubbing his forehead. "I can't test for each one individually, not if I want to save my sanity. I tried to get my students to help me, but none of them wanted to, and I can't even blame them. Sometimes I wish the free exchange of knowledge was a thing in the wizarding world."

"Well…if we can't find what we need, then let's make it," suggested Hermione. "We're both highly intelligent wizards. How hard could it be?"

* * *

It was Thursday evening when they got the news. Immediately afterwards, Fred and George went back to their workroom. They were on a deadline, arbitrarily defined by the gods of time travel.

It was around 9:30 that night that they finally completed the strangest spell they'd ever created.

Most of Hogwarts thought of Fred and George as creative geniuses, who turned out new products faster than most wizards could blink. However, Fred and George firmly believed that the reason they had so much success was because they were willing to try absolutely everything.

Of course, there were some things you should do once and then never, ever again. They had learned that the hard way a few times.

But _this_ invention…this was about several orders of magnitude beyond what they could comprehend. Fortunately, creating spells didn't always require understanding them, only having an idea of what you wanted to do, and tweaking spells you think might do them. Understanding patterns, that sort of thing. Or, just combining random spells and seeing what happened.

That was a good thing for the Weasley brothers, who liked experimenting with weird and crazy magic for that very reason.

Once Fred and George found out that time turners existed, it was inevitable they would get their hands on one. In fact, they would end up in Azkaban if anyone ever found out how they did it. They could have started pulling fantastic pranks immediately, but that would be what everyone would expect. Instead, they got curious about how to make a jinx that would mess with time.

They'd recently come across a very useful spell called a Chameleon jinx. It would mimic a random, low level jinx for a short period of time, until someone besides the target broke the curse. It could be anything from making your ears slightly larger, to forcing you to hiccup every four seconds. It wasn't dangerous and rarely painful, mostly just annoying. It had the added bonus of being very versatile in spell creation. After fiddling around with the Time Turner, they found a common marker between the two magics and connected them.

Most experts believed that you couldn't use time turners to go back in time more than 6 hours, or risk causing a paradox. Last week Harry had told them about the problem with his closet, and they'd struggled not to react. They hadn't even finished creating the spell by that point. Now that they had completed it, they weren't entirely sure what to do next.

"Hermione broke the curse a few hours ago, so I guess we should cast it tonight?" suggested Fred.

"Well…" said George. "If we were to test it on anyone, it would have to be Harry, but I can't see why we would. He's our business partner and a good bloke."

"Right," said Fred. "Now is not the time to pick on our biggest investor. We're having enough trouble with our profit margins."

They shared a moment of sullen contemplation at the problem of unfillable backorders, especially regarding a certain potion.

"If we just cast the jinx because it already happened, would that really complete the circuit? Or would it create a paradox if we're not self-motivated?

They couldn't answer that question. They didn't know enough about the rules of time travel. No one did, if they wanted to stay sane.

"So…" said Fred.

"Well…" said George.

The door to their workroom burst open, and Roger Davies appeared in the doorway, breathing heavily as if he'd been running.

"I'll give you anything you want if you help me to prank Harry Potter!"

* * *

 _After Harry's Star Wars figurines had gone missing a year ago, he had developed a plan in case such a problem occurred again…_

In the hallway, Harry fell into step beside Neville and said in a deep voice, "I know what you did."

"What are you on about, Harry?" sighed Neville.

Harry raised his eyebrows significantly, and Neville swallowed and looked away. "Okay, fine, I stole one of your watches, but I put it right back after meeting with my Gram."

Harry blinked. "Erm…well in that case, all's forgiven."

Mentally, Harry crossed another name off the list.

…

Harry caught up to Blaise Zabini after class. "I know what you did."

"I know what I did, too," said Blaise, with a smug smile.

"I see you're not ashamed," said Harry. "And I thought the Zabinis considered themselves men of character."

Harry took an involuntary step backwards after he saw what flashed through Blaise's mind. If Blaise knew what he'd just revealed, then he obviously didn't care, if his deep laugh was any indication.

"Ha ha, you wish you had this much character, Potter."

Harry crossed another name off his list, and wished for a way to alcohol scrub his brain.

…

Harry found Fred and George in their workroom. "I know what you did."

"You'll have to be more specific," said Fred and George. "We do a lot of things."

Harry left after 5 minutes of increasingly bizarre interrogation techniques. Alone once more, the Weasleys glanced at each other, answering the silent question with a shake of their heads. He would find out eventually, but hopefully they'd be dead first, or else he would kill them.

* * *

Notes:

So, about that time travel jinx. The Chameleon jinx can cause paralysis of a few seconds, which is mostly just annoying unless you're operating heavy machinery. However, the time turner stretched that out considerably, turning it into a huge problem. While the curse should have been detected by Neville when he checked for it, the addition of the time turner made it so that the curse could only be broken within six hours of its casting. The notes on the counter were forged by the Weasleys using a different spell.


	12. Memory Games

Chapter 12: Memory Games

A group of girls stood in the middle of the Beauxbatons common room, surrounded by the elegant finery of lavender sofas and arched windows gilded in gold. The scent of vanilla filled the air along with the lithe tones of a harp, but the best part of all was the brand new cappuccino machine surrounded by plates of macaroons. These were the reasons this dorm was the #2 hangout place, after the Durmstrang dorms. Those were popular because the men were often shirtless.

"Rock, scissors, paper!" the girls cried.

"Oh darn, looks like I'm out of the running," said Daphne Greengrass, while mentally high-fiving herself. She'd only participated in this challenge so no one would suspect who she _really_ wanted to ask to the dance.

"Looks like it's between you and me, Ginny," said Romilda.

"May the best Gryffindor win," her friend replied. "Rock, scissors, paper!"

They threw out their hands, and Romilda cackled wildly.

"Yes!" she cried. "Dmitri Novak, you're mine!"

Ginny sighed with annoyance. "Well, great, that's the last Durmstrang candidate. Who else is left?"

Marguerite, lounging on the couch, raised her hand to call the coffee cart. "There's a few boys from Beauxbatons still unclaimed."

"Do they have cool tattoos, and ride tigers for sport?" asked Ginny.

Marguerite sighed, and helped herself to macaroons. "You're right, our boys simply don't compare."

In a corner of the room, a monotone voice emerged from behind a book. "It doesn't make any sense why you're doing this. The Yule ball hasn't even been announced yet."

" _Oh my god_ , Padma," said Parvati, who was huddled on the floor with Lavender pouring over a moon chart. "First of all, quit being a creepy eavesdropper. Second of all, I told you, the stars said there will be a Yule ball. We've got to act now to get the good ones, because later it's open season."

"It's not eavesdropping, it's people watching," said Padma, her expression neutral. "And usually, one asks the intended if they're interested, especially since there's no reason your friends will hold to their promises."

"Well, unlike you," sneered Romilda. "We actually have loyalty—"

Ginny cut her off. "Romilda, dear, let's be nice to Padma. We should keep this a warm, safe space that's comfortable for everyone." Then, under her breath, so Padma couldn't hear. "Besides, if you ignore her, she shuts up."

Daphne was well aware of the rules of social hierarchy. She was a Slytherin, after all. In Gryffindor, Ginny and her friends were at the top, because they used their assets to make friends and destroy their enemies. Padma, on the other hand, couldn't care less about those things, which was why she was at the bottom.

That was also why Daphne could never, ever let her secret crush get out.

"Anyway, let's see," said Ginny, pursing her lips. "I suppose there's a few decent options in Gryffindor, but I'm bored of them, honestly."

"Oh, I've an idea," suggested Parvati. "How about the duelling champions? Cedric is quite handsome, and Neville isn't bad to look at either."

Susan Bones, who had won the right to ask out a Durmstrang boy and was in a helpful mood, said enthusiastically, "Oh, they both have six packs! No tigers, unfortunately."

Daphne laughed riotously. "Hufflepuff boys! Don't be silly! Who dates Hufflepuffs?"

 _Real smooth, Daphne,_ she thought, her face turning crimson. _And you call yourself Slytherin._

"Well, Slytherins don't, that's for sure," said Ginny. "Who do you suggest, Marguerite?"

Marguerite sipped her coffee. "Well," she said, smiling like a Cheshire cat. "As a Veela, I can get any man I want, which means I don't particularly want anyone. However, there is a boy you haven't considered yet, who is a decent catch."

Daphne considered this. It couldn't be any of the boys in Slytherin, there were almost none she'd term "decent." She mentally sifted through the boys in Ravenclaw. "Anthony Goldstein?"

"Nope," said Marguerite.

"Michael Corner?" asked Ginny.

"The boy in question is not in Ravenclaw," said Marguerite.

"Ron Weasley?" asked Lavender.

"Eww, that's my brother," said Ginny.

"It's Dean Thomas," answered Marguerite, letting that suggestion hang in the air.

"Huh," said Romilda, after a moment of silence. "He's not really my type, but you might be on to something."

"Yeah," said Ginny. "I always thought of him as like a pair with Seamus, but when you think of him alone..."

"Imagine if he's like, getting out his art stuff, and asking to paint you," said Susan, cupping her chin in her hands.

Even Daphne could admit, it wouldn't be half bad. It was almost as good as the guy in Durmstrang who could play Weird Sisters on the guitar.

"Well then," said Ginny. "I'd ask him out. Anyone else want in?"

A few other girls joined the group, enough that Daphne felt safe to decline. Just as they were about to start, Padma approached from her sheltered corner of the room. Parvati rolled her eyes. "Alright, seriously, I _know_ you're not interested. Get lost."

If that happened to Daphne, she would have retreated in shame, but Padma shrugged nonchalantly. "I'm just here to save him from you idiots."

Ginny declared that all could participate, and that was the end of that. "Alright everyone! Rock, scissors…"

Suddenly, Lavender Brown leapt to her feet, letting out a blood curdling screech that made Daphne's hair stand on end. Ginny swore violently, drawing her wand. That sort of thing belonged in horror movies, and it only got worse when her voice rose into a shout.

"I'm…doomed!" she cried, and fainted into the arms of Parvati.

* * *

The problem was memory.

Hermione and Harry had met up that weekend to start their research. They determined that their first step would be to find a spell that imitated the effect of a search and retrieve system. For example, in a series of multi coloured objects, the spell should be able to identify the one with the colour "white." After copious amounts of research, by the end of the day, they had a short list of spells they'd decided to try.

And on Saturday morning, they got one of them to work.

Sort of.

"Alright," said Hermione, pointing her wand at the blue stuffed animal. "I've coded it into the spell's database. Ready to test?"

Harry nodded, and pointed his wand. " _Identificus_ ,"

"Blue stuffed animal," said Hermione's voice, which they'd coded into the spell.

" _Identificus_ ," said Harry, pointing at another object.

"White stuffed animal," said Hermione's voice.

He tried it with the next three, and it worked, until he got to the sixth one.

" _Identificus_ ," said Harry.

The spell did nothing.

Harry tried again two more times. Nothing.

They tried the experiment using six red items and two blue ones. Each was identified. They tried it with fifteen animals of five different colours. Again, no problems. It was only when they started to add more than five items of different colours that the spell seemed to start forgetting things.

" _Identificus_ ," said Harry, pointing to a red stuffed animal.

"Blue stuffed animal," said Hermione's voice.

"Well…" said Hermione, shrugging. "At least it knows it's a stuffed animal now."

Harry got out his notebook and scribbled something down. "I think I might know why this isn't working," he said. "But just so you know, it's going to sound bizarre."

Hermione smiled a little. "Most magical theory is."

"Alright, so, I can't remember where I read this, but it said that humans have a vast potential for long term memory storage, but a really small amount of space for short term memory. If you tell a person a series of 10 random things, they are likely to start forgetting things about halfway through the list."

"So, you're thinking that it's running in short term memory mode, and that's why it can't hold more information?"

Harry shrugged. "It's possible. Magical theory fails sanity checks on multiple levels, after all. So at this point, nothing surprises me."

"Well, I don't know, I kind of like your idea," said Hermione, flipping through their notes on the spell. "Anyway, did you know there's theories that memory is strengthened through both intense emotion and sleeping? We'd better research those too."

Harry looked at Hermione, who was poorly concealing her grin. "Brilliant idea," he said. "What do you think, should we put our spell to sleep with a nightmare jinx? That's a two for one, emotion and slumber."

"Oh nice, I'll add it to the top of my research list," said Hermione, then headed for their piles of study materials. She plopped into one of Harry's library chairs, kicking her legs up under her and snuggling into the cushions. Harry gathered his note taking materials, then came to sit down beside her. She was already happily flipping through a book on charms.

"Well, I must say," said Harry, settling in with his book. "We haven't made much progress yet, but you seem to be enjoying yourself."

"Oh, but this is fun," said Hermione. "Books, research, analysing stuff."

Hermione let out an exaggerated contented sigh, which made Harry smile. Working with Hermione was easy. He liked having a competent research partner to bounce ideas off of. And while original magical research often ended in frustration and unanswered questions, having Hermione around made failure almost fun.

He felt _this_ was the way things were meant to be. Harry and Hermione, research partners. He leaned forwards, elbows against his knees. "We should have a research team name."

"Harmony," said Hermione, and in answer to Harry's questioning look, "It's a portmanteau of our names. Or we could…umm…go with H Squared or something."

"How about Double Helix?" said Harry. "Though my personal favourite is Full Bridge Rectifier."

"What is that?" asked Hermione.

"It's an electrical energy converter. AC to DC. But in this case, it just means we're rectifying this place up. Showing magic who's the boss."

She smiled, and said like a commercial sales pitch. "We're rectifying ignorance, one spell at a time."

 _Oh, I like her,_ said Ravenclaw.

They went on with their research for a while, until there came a solemn knocking on the door.

"Enter," said Harry.

The Weasley twins entered the room, nervous but determined.

"Harry, we have a situation and we need your help."

Harry sighed and stood up. "I'll be back soon, I hope," he said. "Don't solve the entire problem without me. That's cheating."

Hermione just smiled and waved at him as he left.

* * *

Hermione sat in the library, turning the page to her book, and feeling annoyed.

It wasn't that Harry hadn't contacted her for over 24 hours, since running off with the Weasleys. She'd sort of expected that.

It wasn't even the fact that her mum and dad had sent her a ten page letter describing their vacation, the one she hadn't had time to go on.

The problem was that people were invading her sacred space.

Hermione had always liked the library, for many reasons. For one, she was within convenient access to a wide variety of books. Reading in the library was much more convenient than going through the process of checking the books out, carrying them to her room, and returning them. For another, it was quiet, unlike most places in Hogwarts. The students were so terrified of the librarian that one intimidating glare was enough to strangle them into silence.

But that all changed, once Boris Krum had started passing his time in the library.

This same routine had been going on the last five days. He would sit down at the table across from hers, pull out a book, and begin to "read." Every time her head would turn in his general direction, his eyes would snap up from the page. He never talked, never smiled or tried to get her attention, other than the hesitant, forlorn looks in her direction that seemed to imply he was waiting for her to make the first move.

Hermione didn't know how to handle the situation. It was sort of sweet that he seemed to care so much, but mostly it just creeped her out.

The main problem wasn't him, though, but the hordes of Hogwarts students following him around. They would titter and giggle, and even if she cast a quieting charm (which she shouldn't have to do in the _library_ ) she could still see them flailing around in her peripheral vision. The librarian would level on them her sternest glare, and the students would quiet down and fade into the background. Then a few minutes later, Krum would raise his right pinky or something and they would start flailing again.

Finally, she'd had enough. She packed up her things and walked the long way around to go to the librarian, where she checked out her books (sigh) and walked back to the dorms. On the way, her Auror mirror chimed. She checked and saw Director Bones' stern face declaring, "We have a trainee Auror meeting in 30 minutes. You will all report in room 209 C near the potions classroom. Mentor Aurors, you are also required to attend. End transmission."

Hermione slowly put away her mirror, walking in a daze back to her room. She'd forgotten about the meeting, and she needed to change her robes and fix her hair. Madam Bones had been commenting on people not appearing "professional" lately.

What Hermione really wanted to do was use the time turner and go back in time for an hour or two. But, these meetings were like band-aids, it was better to just rip them off to get it over with.

As Hermione walked to the meeting area, she fell into step with the Aurors Crell and Mott. After a few moments of tense silence, she said, "Hello."

They nodded their heads in response, and that was the end of their conversation.

When they arrived outside room 209 C, Hermione was surprised to see Cedric Diggory waiting outside, hands stuffed uncomfortably in his pockets.

"Ahh, hello!" he greeted. "I'm Cedric Diggory, and I'm—"

"Trainee," said Auror Crell, nodding.

"Oh, yes, I'm the new trainee. It's very—"

"Nice to meet you," said Auror Crell, shaking Cedric Diggory's hand firmly. Then the Auror and trainee went inside, black robes swirling behind them.

Cedric shrugged, and then turned to Hermione. "I just found out I got accepted today. I didn't enter the Tri-Wizard competition because I knew I might get chosen, and I was worried I'd been passed over. I've been looking forward to this for so long, and I'm really excited to be working with you."

Hermione held out her hand, and Cedric shook it. "I'm excited to be working with you too. Welcome to the team, Cedric!"

"Eyy, Cedric," said a voice behind her, as Tonks came up and clapped him on the back. "Hufflepuffs in the hoouuuse!" He laughed, and she gave him a high five. "Congratulations, housemate, you finally made it. Excited?"

"Absolutely!" he said, and Hermione noticed his cheeks had flushed pink. It reminded her of how excited and scared she'd been, all those years ago.

"Come on," said Tonks. "Let's get inside before Madam Bones yells at me again. I hope you brought your duelling shoes, because it's time to dance, baby."

As Tonks had predicted, there was duelling. A lot of duelling.

But first, there were introductions. And next, lectures about how all the Aurors needed to stop slacking off on their training. Hermione supposed she deserved that, since she hadn't trained seriously since arriving at Hogwarts.

What wasn't earned, however, was the constant nit-picking from Madam Bones about her fighting style. She didn't say it in front of everyone, but would instead whisper in her ear, or move her wand to show her what to do. It made Hermione feel like she was a 1st year, and it was causing her to make the mistakes of one, too.

"Foot to the right, Hermione, I've said it countless times. Just because you're tough doesn't mean you can't learn proper defensive form."

Hermione did the move she'd done correctly countless times, Madam Bones inspecting her every movement.

"It's one, two, two," said Madam Bones. "I said one, two, two." Madam Bones grabbed her hand and led her through the motions. "Count. One, two, two."

Hermione didn't understand why she was being hovered over, considering they had a brand new trainee in need of guidance. When Madam Bones finally left to inspect Cedric's progress, Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. She saw Auror Tonks looking on with sympathy.

At the end of the practice session, they were all informed that they would be required to submit weekly logs of their mandatory training hours and have them signed by Auror Lee.

"Unbelievable," said Tonks, shaking her head. "She doesn't trust us at all. And the way she was treating you today, Hermione," she huffed a sigh. "I understand about the testing period, but seriously, what is wrong with her?"

"Something seemed off about her today," said Hermione. "Either that or she just…really hates me." Hermione bit her lip to keep it from trembling.

"Don't worry about her too much. I don't." Tonks put an arm around Hermione's back, whispering conspiratorially, "You should ask for a new mentor."

Hermione felt her stomach clench. "And embarrass her in front of everyone? She'd sooner kick me out." They walked on in silence for a few moments. "How did you deal with Mad Eye when he was being crazy?"

"Well…" said Tonks, shrugging. "It wasn't so bad. He's the same sort of crazy as me, so even if I didn't like what he was doing, I could still understand it. Sometimes he still puts me through tests, like that time he locked me in a box for a week. I technically won't have graduated from his mentorship training until I'm at least 30."

As was the case with Aurors, they continued to train after their initiation, and would climb the ranks from Rookie, Junior, Senior, and Executive. Each level required new training, several years of experience as well as an exceptional demonstration of skill (like, for example, capturing a dark lord).

Tonks was a Junior, and Hermione had the privileged rank of "Not Quite a Rookie Yet."

"Hey Cedric," said Tonks, calling to the Hufflepuff tagging along behind them. "Want to go to Hogsmeade and celebrate?"

"Yeah, sounds like fun," said Cedric. "Mind if I bring some friends? Like…maybe around 30?"

"Ha ha! The more the merrier, Cedric," said Tonks. "Hermione, you ought to come too."

"Of course," said Hermione, glancing at her Auror mirror. She hoped Harry was okay, wherever he was.

* * *

 _The Leaky Cauldron, Diagon Alley, October 20th_

Paul Johnson stared into the amber depths of his third mug of beer. In his opinion, nothing was better than a cold pint. He certainly needed it today, now that his third job interview that month had come to nothing.

"See, you know you don't got the job when they're tight lipped as y'leave," he rambled to the man on a nearby barstool. "Giving you the squinty eye. I thought I might've got a chance at the last one, but then they asked for a background check." He sighed, taking a swig of his beer. "Soon as they saw the results, I was escorted out the door."

"What you're describing is discrimination," said the man beside him. "Plain and simple."

"Exactly, thank you!" cried Paul, sloshing his beer. "Nobody gets it. They see _what_ I am, not _who_ I am. I'm plenty qualified for the position, and I'd make a damn fine Floo inspector if someone would give me a chance." He scowled, draining his beer and ordering another. "See, this is what's wrong with society. They deny people legitimate employment, then they act surprised when half that population turns to crime or abusing the welfare system to survive. And they call _us_ monsters."

"You're exactly right," agreed the man. "And for the record, I'd hire you as a Floo inspector."

"Thanks, mate," said Paul. He leaned forwards, whispering conspiratorially. "You know how in the Quibbler they keep saying that magic is dying and the world is gonna end? Well, I say, good riddance! The world's damned itself already. You got decent, hardworking people who can't pay the bills, while those rich pure bloods hog all the money and power for themselves. My brother lives in Russia, and he said he hates England for keeping the magical world behind the times. We don't even get elections for the Wizengamot like the Muggles do! How in Merlin's name are we supposed to get our voice heard?"

The man nodded. "I know exactly what you mean. Fortunately, there's another people who feel the same way." He stood to leave, shaking Paul's hand. "Let me know if you want to do something about it."

The man walked out of the pub, and Paul peered into his hand. It contained a white business card that showed a timer. It was counting down.


	13. Love Potion Number 9

Chapter 13: Love Potion Number 9

"So, are you going to tell me what this is about?" asked Harry.

He was sitting in the twins' office, which doubled as their laboratory. They were surrounded by several tables with inventions in various states of completion, with bubbling potions and squeaking toys and floating things that somehow weren't as chaotic as they should have been. It wasn't as nice as his laboratory, though, and that was the important thing. His had a bigger bookshelf.

The twins stood in front of him, hands clasped solemnly behind their backs. One of the twins—George, maybe—said, "We've been meaning to tell you this, but our profit margins…"

"They're not as wide as they should be," finished Fred. "And that's because of the back orders of love potions. We're getting a lot of complaints."

Harry shrugged. "Yes, well, you did promise them a month ago. What's wrong?"

"We can't get the formula right. If it works at all, it's too strong, and the antidote only counteracts that half the time."

"Uh huh," said Harry, folding his arms. "Are you asking me to help you fix it? Because I already told you, I'm not getting involved in this project."

"Yes, we know, you don't approve of love potions. But it's an important component of pranks and trickery, and the people demand it. We think we can fix it but…" They trailed off.

Harry sighed. "So, you want money then. I offered you a set amount of funding to complete this project, and I'm not increasing it. I've told you before about the sunk cost fallacy, and just because you've put a lot of work into something, doesn't mean you should keep throwing time and money away trying to fix it. If you want, I'll help you smooth things over with the back orders. Let's offer them something else from our stock, or perhaps we could bring back a limited edition item. Better yet, why don't you give me a list of the students' names, and I'll see if I can find—"

"We can't give up, Harry," said Fred, shaking his head. "This has gotten too big, and we don't want money from you. We have a few promising love potions that we think are ready for human testing. So…you're here to help us with that."

It suddenly occurred to Harry that he was completely alone in this room with the twins, whose hands were suspiciously hidden behind their backs. Harry slowly reached for his wand. "Hold on, what exactly are you asking me to do? Do you want me to help facilitate testing the product on students? Because that's completely unethical."

"No!" the twins shook their heads. "Of course not. It's only right that we test the product on a willing subject, someone who has interests at stake of making sure this works correctly."

"Ahh. I see." He stood up.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm leaving. You said _willing_ test subject, and that is not me. Ever. If you want to turn yourselves into lovestruck fools, be my guest, but I won't be a part of it. Goodbye."

Harry was a few steps from his freedom when he heard a soft knocking.

"Come in," said George.

Neville peered inside. "Hello, everyone. Harry, what are you doing here?"

"What are _you_ doing here?" asked Harry.

"The Weasley twins said they needed help, so I came, and—"

"Umm, Neville," Harry blocked the doorway with his arm, holding him back. "Perhaps we should talk outside—"

"Hey!" cried a girl's voice. "Would you move, already?"

Harry stepped back as the girl shoved past both Neville and Harry, then brushed her curls back over her shoulders. Harry recognized her as a Gryffindor 4th year who spent time with Ginny, but he couldn't remember her name. She stood opposite the twins, hands on her hips, and said, "Hello Weasleys. Shall we begin?"

"Okay, I'm really confused," said Harry. "Is _she_ your test subject?"

"Yes," said Fred. "We are going to dose ourselves with the love potion—"

"And we need Romilda Vane to give it to us," said George. "To see if we fall in love with her."

"She's a good match for this test, since collectively, our attraction for her is 0%."

Romilda snorted. "Well, same to you. I don't like gingers."

"But—" said Harry, his brain spinning. "Why did you call _us_ then?"

"Because, we need you to make sure nothing untoward happens."

"Ummm…." said Harry.

"For example," said Fred, who was rummaging through a drawer. "We don't want to have any physical contact with the test subject. No matter how much we beg you or threaten to harm ourselves. Also, if we turn purple and start foaming at the mouth, we would appreciate it if you would Floo us to Saint Mungos."

Harry was really regretting coming here. He should have just stayed with Hermione in his lab. Maybe he could contact her and ask her to use the time turner to burst into the room at this exact moment, set off a smoke bomb, and evacuate everyone with the excuse that Hogwarts was on fire. But then, if the twins saw her, they might try to get Hermione involved as a test subject. And just maybe, Hermione might feel obligated to _help_ …

No, he'd gotten himself into this mess, and he would get himself out.

"Listen, I appreciate the amount of trust you have in us, but I'm afraid it's not something we're comfortable doing. Right, Neville?"

Neville folded his arms. "If you want to leave, that's fine. But I promised to help, and I _don't_ back out on my friends. It's not the way of Hufflepuffs."

Harry sighed. "You know, sometimes it's okay to—"

"Harry, listen," said George, who had dug up some rope and tape. "We need you both. Neville is strong, and you're smart. Together, you should be able to make certain the operation is a success."

Harry eyed them warily. A poorly designed love potion brought terrible side effects—lustful rage and a complete shutdown of the forebrain was one of them. He knew the Weasley twins were formidable wizards, and if push came to shove, they could probably break themselves out of any trap set for them. Neville wasn't strong enough to hold off two crazy, 7th year Gryffindor Chasers alone. It would take an incredibly cunning wizard to devise strategies that would keep them in line. And yes, that wizard was Harry.

He could spend all evening trying to talk them out of it, with small chance of success. Or, he could just get this over with.

"Fine," said Harry. "But just so you know, you owe me a big favour."

"Huzzah!" cried George.

"We knew we could count on you," said Fred. "Now, do whatever you think will keep us in line. We suggest tying us up and taking our wands."

Harry shook his head and got to work.

* * *

Considering the constraints, Harry thought his whole plan was quite comprehensive.

The twins had their wands removed from the room, along with all sharp and heavy objects. Their hands and feet were bound. They'd objected to having their mouths taped over (they were working on growing beards) and moving to another room (they had magical protection charms necessary for the experiment). They had also "somehow" become immune to silencing charms. This was inconvenient, but Harry would work around it.

After starting the experiment, Neville would keep his wand trained on them. Every five minutes, Harry would use his mirror to send a message to himself to confirm that all was well. If he didn't, then McGonagall would be informed immediately of injured students and to call St. Mungos. That was the plan Harry told everyone, while secretly, he had a Plan B for if his Auror mirror was stolen, and a Plan C if Neville got jinxed or love potioned and turned against him, and a Plan D if the room suddenly came to the twins' defence, like a guard dog or something…

And as for Plan E, Harry was really, really hoping not to have to resort to Plan E.

"Alright," said Harry, taking a final sweep of the room. "I think we're ready."

"Are you sure? Did you forget the kitchen sink?" asked Romilda. "Because we wouldn't want that."

"Neville, if you'll do the honours," said George, from his perch on a high backed chair, his arms tightly bound behind him.

Neville walked over to the cabinet, took two boxes of chocolates and two vials, and set them down on the table.

"I'll ask you one more time," said Harry. "Could you _please_ reconsider doing this experiment together? That way, only one of you needs to turn green and start vomiting."

"It has to be like this," said Fred. "We do it together or not at all."

"Of course you do," sighed Harry, resigning himself.

Romilda came to the table and took the chocolates, saying the secret incantation inscribed on the back of the box, and then brought them to the tied up Weasleys. She fed them the chocolates, and then stepped back while the boys chewed.

"Come on, Cupid," said Fred.

"La la la," George sang.

And they waited. Romilda stood near the door, in case she needed to make a quick getaway.

Fred and George passed the time practicing their comedy routine, which Neville chuckled at, Harry assumed from an impulse to be polite. Romilda was picking at her nails, while Harry kept glancing impatiently at his watch.

"Looks like it's another dud," said George.

"Too bad," sighed Fred. "Suppose it's off to the pub with us."

"Seriously?" Romilda rolled her eyes. "That's it, I'm leaving."

"Wait," said Fred. "We need to make absolutely sure. Why don't you come closer?"

"Romilda, don't do that," said Harry, drawing his wand. "Neville, can you check their vital signs?"

Neville approached the twins, checking their pulse. "Their hearts are beating really fast, and their pupils look dilated."

"What does that mean?" asked Romilda.

There was a moment of tense silence, where no one moved or spoke. Harry clenched his wand, prepared to cast _Somnium_ if the twins broke their bonds, his mind racing through all the ways this could go wrong.

Most wizards didn't experiment with love potions, and for good reason. They were notoriously volatile and could do _anything_ to the Weasleys, including—in very rare cases—increasing their strength to Hulk-like proportions. Rapidly accessing his surroundings, Harry realized that Neville stood mere steps away from the twins, close enough that they _could_ lunge and snap his wand. Romilda waited near the door, but she wouldn't be safe if the Weasleys found a way to block her in, break her legs, or simply _summon_ her.

The twins had unpredictability and sheer force on their side, and Harry had squat. Dread built inside him as he realized he'd made a terrible mistake. He wanted a rope, so that he could hang his common sense.

Harry was so tense that he jumped at the low chuckle from the pair of tied up boys.

"What do _you_ think it means, sweetie?" asked George.

"Aww, listen to that adorable voice," said Fred, chuckling.

"I'm adorable, huh?" she teased, cocking her hip. "Tell me more."

"Your eyes are like candy hearts," sang Fred. "They say, 'Be mine.'"

"Your face is like lemonade," countered George, straining in his seat to see her better. "It makes my lips pucker."

"Your lips are red like you just ate a popsicle." Fred grinned. "And I wish I was the popsicle."

"Oh, kinky," she said, beaming. "Now, this is more like it."

As Harry came down off his adrenaline, it occurred to him that he would have preferred green, rage filled Weasleys over this. It felt like someone had taken a soldering iron to his ears.

"Oh, Rommy, I loooove you!" sang Fred, in the tune of On Top of Old Smokey. "And both of your knees!"

"If you had SPA-GHE-TIII," continued George. "I'd grate you some cheese!"

 _This is not the way I go,_ thought Harry, gritting his teeth. _This assault on my sanity will not be the end of me._

The plan was to wait exactly 20 minutes for the potion to take full effect, and then administer the antidote. This was to make sure the effects of the potion remained stable, merely impairing their ability to make rational decisions on a romantic level, rather than, say, turning them into rage zombies. This meant everyone had to sit through several more minutes of horrific jokes and off-key singing, at which point even Romilda looked annoyed. "I think you've covered every body part. Give it rest, yeah?"

"We can't rest until we've won your heart!"

"Come on, brown sugar, come closer and give us a kiss."

"Ohh, Ginny is going to freak out when she hears about this!" Romilda snickered. "Once we finish up here, can I take the leftover chocolate? I have plans for it."

"What?" Fred pouted. "But…you only share chocolate with me."

"Who is this other man?" growled George. "I'll punch him in the throat!"

"Romilda, you should leave now," said Harry. "We'll take care of the rest."

As soon as she left the room, Harry prepared the syringe. It was usually taken orally, but if Harry knew a way to "vanish" liquid without a wand, then the twins likely had a trick of their own. While Neville distracted them, Harry was to turn invisible and give them the shot.

"Hey, Fred," said Neville. "You know what I like most about Romilda? Her smile."

"Yeah," said Fred, with a dreamy sigh, then frowned. "Wait, why do you care?"

"Last week, we studied Transfiguration together. She kept smiling at me, and then she put her hand on my arm. I thought she'd kiss me, but—"

"Woah, kiss?" said George. "Are you the chocolate man?"

"Well…" said Neville.

"He's the chocolate man!" cried Fred. "Get him!"

" _Somnium_ ," said Harry from behind them, and the two boys fell asleep. He cast it one more time, just in case.

Harry plunged the syringe into Fred's arm, and then another into George's. They sat down to wait the five minutes until the potion took effect.

"So," said Neville. "Do you think food related pick up lines really work on girls?"

* * *

A few minutes later, the boys woke up.

"Hey," said Harry, tapping a message on his Auror mirror. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine," said George, yawning. "I wouldn't mind going back to sleep."

"Me either," said Fred.

"Fred, George," said Romilda's voice. "Can you hear me?"

Instantly, their heads whirled around.

"Where are you, my pumpkin?" said Fred.

"We can't see you!" cried George.

Harry sighed. He got out the second syringe, with another dose of antidote, and put them both to sleep again. After administering it, he sat down, and Neville said, "We could just let them sleep it off?"

"Do you have 48 to 72 hours to waste on that? Because I don't. Besides, we still have three more doses before we reach the maximum safe amount."

"Well," said Neville. "Orally, that's true. But intravenously, they've almost hit the overdose limit."

There was a moment of silence.

"Did Professor Sprout tell you that?" asked Harry.

"No, Madam Pomfrey, while I helped clean her office." Harry could have kicked himself. Of course people who did the quests got the secret info. "Anyway, there's no way to tell what an overdose would do, so we have to assume the worst. Hope you packed some snack bars and reading material, this is going to be a long wait."

There was another moment of silence, in which Harry's brain shattered into a million pieces.

 _No…not Plan E!_

* * *

Hour: 4

"Good Lord," said Harry, examining the antidote box they'd unearthed from the chaos. "One of the side effects is incontinence." He turned to Neville, face distraught. "What if they have to go to the _bathroom_?"

"Ummm...I believe there's a spell to help with that? What was it..."

George mumbled in his sleep, and Harry reflexively cast _Somnium_.

Harry's hand covered his face. "I'm not even sorry," he mumbled.

* * *

Hour: 8

"So, you're saying," said Harry, "that if I had given them smaller doses over a longer period, it might have worked?"

"It's possible. Professor Sprout mentioned something about it last week."

Harry's brain exploded.

"Arrrgh! Tell me, why is it that I make a comprehensive, well thought out plan, and I miss one detail, ONE, and the whole thing falls apart?"

"I don't know," said Neville, his voice sharp. "How is it I keep getting involved in everyone's stupid plots?"

* * *

Hour: 34

"Would you quit it?" sighed Harry. "Some people are trying not to go batshit crazy over here."

"But I need to practice," said Neville. "This is important to me."

"Fine," said Harry, through gritted teeth. It's not like his day could get any worse.

After a few minutes of mumbling to himself, Neville said, "Harry?"

"What?"

"I have some jokes prepared, but I can't figure out if they're good. Could you listen to ten different food puns and tell me which ones suck the least?"

"Food puns. Great. Hold on, let me bang my head against the wall first."

The twins shifted in their seats.

"What's this about food puns?" said Fred. "Great idea, I need new material to woo Romilda."

Harry sighed, casting _Somnium_. Both of the twins blinked slowly.

"Huh, looks like we're immune to _Somnium_ now."

"Imagine that," said George. "Now, about those puns—have you considered saying them in haiku? We suggest the title 'Sweetest Romilda.'"

While Harry's mouth hung open, Neville said, "Hang on, I _might_ have a plant based sleeping draught."

"Oh thank Merlin," said Harry. "I was afraid I was about to get sent to Azkaban for applying staples to mouths."

* * *

Hermione was at breakfast on Monday morning when Harry sat down beside her. He mumbled a greeting and shovelled food onto his plate.

"Hello," said Hermione, examining his dishevelled form. "So…did you help the Weasleys solve their problem?"

"Why yes," said Harry curtly. "They woke up an hour ago and proclaimed that they'd figured it out. If I'd known that drugs and a good night's rest were all that was needed, I could have given them a Xanax, read them a bedtime story and avoided all that nonsense."

"What happened?" asked Hermione.

"Let's just say," said Harry. "That I discovered my own personal form of hell. If adventure ever calls for me again, I'll just tell it I'm too busy doing real work with you."

There was silence for a few moments as they ate their breakfast. The boy on Harry's other side made a joke about his pancakes, and Harry winced.

"Hermione, how do you feel about food related pick-up lines?"

"Uhh…"

"Because those are now a banned topic of conversation, in case you were wondering."

Hermione looked down at her plate. "Alright, but Harry, I do want to tell you one thing."

"What?"

"It's grape to see you."

She fell into a giggle fit, while Harry stared at her with narrowed eyes. Then, he sighed.

"Orange you lucky that I'm such a kind, forgiving friend?" She started laughing even harder, her fist banging the table. He ruffled her hair, then said in wry tones. "Grape to see you too."

* * *

Neville strode down the hallway, hands flexing at his side, bracing himself for the scariest moment of his life.

Today, he was finally going to confess his feelings to his one true love.

He'd been daydreaming about this moment for so long, that there was no way it could be as amazing as he had imagined it. His favourite was the one where they flew away on Buckbeak to a forgotten island. As they explored the hidden treasures of nature and gazed at the setting sun, he would tell her how he'd loved her since the first moment he saw her. Then they would share stories, laugh, and fall asleep holding hands.

It was going to be so perfect. And yet, if love potions were about to descend upon Hogwarts, then he couldn't wait any longer. A simple confession in the common room would have to do. Hopefully they would still be able to at least hold hands.

He'd decided that wouldn't actually tell her the food related pick up line, but it kept rattling around in his head anyway. "If you were a vegetable, you'd be a _cute_ cumber." It was too cheesy, even by his standards. He would love it if a girl would make up random puns for him, but that seemed like a little too much to ask for.

Finally, he was standing outside the door to her common room, hand poised to knock. If they let him in, it would be a sign.

He kept standing there, hand poised to knock.

As easily as he imagined his confession, he could see his rejection. She would laugh at him, mock him, call him pudgy (even though he'd outgrown it) and simple-minded (even though he did well in class). The sad truth was that Hufflepuff girls could date anyone they wanted, but no one wanted a Hufflepuff boy except other Hufflepuffs.

Slowly, his hand lowered, and he turned and walked away.


	14. Experiments and Meetings

Chapter 14: Experiments and Meetings

Harry and Hermione had to put their experiment on hold, as the midterm exam period had begun at Hogwarts. This meant that everyone was hopped up on caffeine or Pepper-Up potion, bent over a book that hadn't been opened since the start of the year, and silently weeping over their ten page papers due in five hours.

In fact, the only person in that library who didn't look like a complete mess was Hermione Granger. Comfortably reclining in her favourite chair, she carefully set out her writing quills and cracked her knuckles. Hermione expected she could do well even without studying, but she had to set a good example. Even Boris Krum was studying elsewhere, so she didn't have to worry about that distraction.

Although, the fact that he wasn't there sort of bothered her. He'd become a fixture at the library, and now that he wasn't, she thought maybe she'd hurt his feelings. Or worse, he might be angry at her.

She was just settling into work when she noticed some first year girls glaring daggers at her. She recognized them as part of Boris Krum's posse. When she caught their gaze, they whispered to each other, and then turned away and marched out of the library.

Hermione sighed. This was getting out of hand. Was she supposed to be the bad guy for…not dating Boris? It was almost amusing that all it took was a misguided romance for her to fall from her pedestal.

As Hermione went back to her books, she felt anxious. Somewhere out there, Boris was upset and it was probably her fault. Harry showed up a few minutes later, and Hermione was still pondering as he settled in to study. Then, all of a sudden, it occurred to her that she really wanted a boy's advice, and there was a boy sitting right next to her.

"So, umm," Hermione's quill tapped her book, and then she glanced over at Harry. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Of course," he said, still glancing over his notes.

Hermione paused, and then asked, not looking at him. "What does it mean when a boy offers a girl his sausage?"

After a few moments of flabbergasted silence, Harry responded with, "Alright, pause. Do you mean the breakfast food, or the euphemism?"

"Maybe both?"

There was silence for a moment.

"Who was it?"

"I'd rather not say," said Hermione.

"Well…" He fidgeted with his eraser. "Do you want him to….do you have feelings for him?"

"No. But he keeps appearing around me, and staring at me, and it's starting to get weird."

Harry's face hardened. "If I can be blunt, I think you should tell him where he can put his sausage."

"Harry…"

"Look, if he's stalking you, and making suggestive comments, even after you told him to stop, then that's harassment. You'd be doing yourself a favour by telling him off."

"Well…I didn't actually tell him to stop yet."

He looked at her like she had two heads. "Seriously?"

She was twisting her fingers, blushing. "I mean, well, he hasn't actually done anything wrong. Besides, I think he's just shy and doesn't know how to express his feelings. And if I talk to him and tell him no, well, he might be…sad."

Harry looked at her for a long moment. "Do you want me to tell him? Where is he?"

"No, it's okay," she said. "You're right. I'll tell him to stop next time I see him."

Harry nodded. "And since I know you prefer to be kind, just tell him that you don't think you're a good match and that you don't like him romantically. Make sure you don't give him any hope, or it'll hurt him worse in the long run." His fingers were picking pieces off his eraser. "If he gives you any trouble, tell me, or at least a professor, okay? I mean, not that I don't think you can handle yourself, it's just…"

"Yes, I understand," she patted his arm. "Thank you, Harry."

He sighed and went back to his studying.

Hermione smiled. It was oddly comforting talking to Harry about her boy problems. A few seconds later, she said, "There's also some of his posse giving me trouble. Like, giving me weird looks and stuff."

"And you don't want to concoct an elaborate plot to get revenge?"

"No."

"Ahh," said Harry. "In that case, I don't think I can give you advice. That sounds like a girl problem. Though if I think of anything, I'll let you know."

Hermione shrugged. "Worth a shot, I guess."

* * *

Harry left about an hour later, and Hermione worked alone in the library. When she was just finishing up, the same first years from earlier approached her table, along with two of their friends.

"Hermione Granger," one of them declared imperiously, her voice shaking. "We have to talk to you."

 _Here we go._ Hermione sat up. "What is it?"

The girl's ponytail bobbed as she thrust her finger forwards. "Don't you know how terrible you're being right now?"

"Yeah," said another girl, hands on her hips. "Boris is suffering, and you're not doing anything to help him!"

"Ahh," said Hermione. "You know what? You're absolutely right. I need to tell him immediately that I'm not interested and relieve his suffering."

"You're not?" cried one of the girls in hopeful disbelief.

"We thought you were just making him wait, like Marguerite says to do!"

"Except you were doing it too long. It's supposed be a week, tops."

"Is that so?" said Hermione.

The third girl piped up. "Yeah, and also you're supposed to drop hints. Don't you know anything?" The girl suddenly looked quite scared, like she shouldn't have gone that far.

"Afraid not," said Hermione, smiling. "What kinds of things does Marguerite tell you?"

"Oh, she knows everything!" said the fourth girl, pushing through the others to stand beside Hermione. "For example, there's a strategy that has a 98% success rate of getting a man's attention, and an 83% chance he'll go on a date with you. Want me to show you?"

"I'll take your word for it. Now, where is Boris?"

"He's busy studying," said the girls. "But you should tell him tomorrow, and also tell him we helped you."

"Wait," said one of the girls, suspiciously. "Why don't you want to date Boris? He's so perfect."

"He's not my type," said Hermione, shrugging.

"What?!" exclaimed the girls.

"No, listen," said one of them. "That must mean she likes someone else."

Suddenly, they were all crowding around her. It was major news if the Girl-Who-Revived had a crush on someone. "Who is it? Tell us and we'll help you get him."

Hermione bit her lip to hold back a smile. They were sort of cute. "It's a secret."

"It's not Harry Potter, is it?" said one of the girls, her hands flying to her face in shock. "You know he's gay, right?"

"Umm..." said Hermione.

"Duh, of course she knows, since he's dating Neville."

"What!" Hermione couldn't help herself.

"Yes, it's obvious. They're always having a row with each other, which means they're in love."

She said this patiently, as if Hermione was a dunce.

"Did Marguerite tell you this?"

"No, but it's obvious. You see, there's only two reasons a boy would resist a Veela. If he was really in love with someone, or if he's gay. Harry was so terrible to Marguerite that she had to punch him in the face. Besides, he's mean to other girls too, like Ginny, and he's always hanging out with boys."

"So, you can't love him, you need to choose someone else."

"Like Ron Weasley," one of the girls said. "Or Lee Jordan."

"But not Boris Krum, because you promised!"

Hermione stood up, took a deep breath, and said, "Alright, that's quite enough. Time for bed, all of you."

"But..."

Hermione closed her eyes. She had practiced for this. When she opened her eyes, she was giving them her best McGonagall Death Glare. "Bed. Now."

They shrieked and ran out of the library. Hermione sat down again.

She needed to think.

* * *

The entire class watched the clock as they furiously scribbled on their parchments. Finally, a little bell chimed, and each test instantly disappeared off the desks. Some students, who were in the middle of their essays, accidentally scratched the desk with their quill. Professor Slughorn gave everyone a cheerful wave goodbye, while saying, "If you did well, congratulations! You will be receiving an invitation to my Slug Club. If not, don't worry, there's always time to improve your grade before my Christmas party. Just ask Hermione Granger for help, and I'm sure you'll do well."

Slughorn did have a strange way of motivating his students, but it seemed to work. Apparently, the Slug Club was quite popular as an afterschool activity. Hermione felt a bit weird about being singled out like that, but Slughorn seemed to have his favourites, and Hermione was one of them.

As she left the room, she met Harry waiting outside for her.

"Hi, Hermione. So, I know you've still got two tests, but I was thinking about how we could improve the memory problem…"

As they made their way to lunch, Hermione bit her lip, lost in thought. She wanted to dismiss what the girls had said as the ramblings of children, but the more she thought, the more it made sense. Harry never talked about girls or spent time with them. She was also painfully aware of the fact that he'd run away screaming every time she'd attempted to kiss him. Besides, it wasn't just possible, but probable that he simply wouldn't bother to mention if he was gay. He wouldn't think it important.

The simple solution would be to talk to Harry, but how was she supposed to ask him? How was your day, do you like to kiss guys?

"So, are you planning to join the Slug Club?" asked Harry.

"What? Oh…no, I'm not."

"Yeah, I don't want to join, but I think it would be a smart move. Supposedly he gives out rare items and spells to his favourite students." He coughed. "To be honest, I was sort of hoping you would go so I could skip it."

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Just kidding, I wouldn't do that to you."

They were about to enter the Great Hall when Neville bumped into them.

"Oh hello," said Neville, looking sheepishly at Harry.

Harry ducked his head. "Hey."

"Listen, I've been meaning to say I'm sorry about the other day. I didn't know it would make you so uncomfortable. But it was just something I wanted to try..."

"It's fine," said Harry. "We were both bored and needed to release some stress. Anyway, it wasn't as bad as I thought."

Hermione was really glad she wasn't eating anything, as it would be all over her clothes now.

"Oh good," said Neville. "Well, see you this afternoon for studying?"

"Sounds good," said Harry.

They walked into the Great Hall and sat down at the Ravenclaw table. Hermione must have been silent for a long time, because Harry nudged her with his arm. "Don't you want to eat something?"

"Harry, what happened with you and Neville?"

"Uhh...nonsense not worth repeating. Actually, he made me promise I wouldn't tell anyone. Don't worry, it wasn't anything wrong, just sort of weird."

Hermione nodded, and slowly put some food on her plate.

* * *

Harry was in his lab, his trunk sitting in a corner of the room. He was standing in the opposite corner.

"Red ball," said Harry, and pulled it out of his pouch.

He put it back in the pouch, then walked to his trunk, and disappeared inside. He came back out a moment later, walked to the same corner, and put his hand in his enchanted robe pocket. "Red ball," he said.

His hand came out empty.

Harry moved to stand on a chair in the same area, and repeated the experiment. The red ball still didn't appear. It would not appear, because "red ball" did not seem to be a term his magic pocket understood. Neither was "wand" or "5th year potions book."

Except one time, in this exact corner, when his trunk was placed in the opposite one, on September 30th of this year. On that day, he was able to get both "red ball" and "wand." And every time Harry tried it again, his pocket pretended that didn't happen.

"Water bottle," on the other hand, was fine most of the time. So was _Hamlet_ but not _King Lear_ , even when he switched their locations in his trunk.

Harry tried a few more times to pull items from his pocket, placing the trunk and pouch in different locations. The items were placed at different angles, because who knew, maybe the magic formula was an isosceles triangle.

Harry wrote something in his notebook, and crossed out yet another theory. He closed the notebook and knocked it off the table. Then, he picked it up again.

 _No use crying about it. If it's true, then I want to believe it's true. If it's not true..._

On a whim, Harry put his hand in his pocket. "Red ball."

The ball refused to appear.

"My dignity," he said.

Something appeared in his hand. " _The Book of Dignitaries 1884_."

Harry stared at the book a long moment, unsure if he should laugh or cry.

He was convinced at this point that all magical theory was insane. It shouldn't surprise him, really, since the rules were likely crafted by wizards, who weren't much better in that regard.

Harry was beginning to understand why Professor Quirrell had become so cynical. Harry had worked for years to spread the practice of rationality, but he'd still barely made a dent in the stupidity running rampant in his school. This frenzy about the Yule Ball currently stood as Exhibit A. In his kinder moods, he would call it "confusion," but he wasn't entirely sure that term was accurate anymore.

The thing that bothered Harry the most was that he'd once thought that surely if he taught them, they'd want to know. The wizarding world was fallow ground, ripe for sowing the seeds of rationality, and yet experience proved the opposite. Why did it seem like everyone was content to live with half their brain functioning?

As he finished writing his experimental result, he glanced at his hand and noticed his ring was visible again. He pointed his wand at the ring, whose green gem was his father's transfigured rock, and in a few seconds, it was invisible again.

He didn't know how many wizards could maintain a constant transfiguration and invisibility spell on an object, but he assumed he was one of the first to try. It was practice, because eventually he wanted to perform wordless, wandless invisibility and transfiguration. He needed to increase his stamina.

Rule 6 of being a Light Lord: Don't assume you can't do something if you haven't tried.

Harry was interrupted from further research by someone throwing open his lab door.

"Harry Potter!" barked Angelina Johnson, storming into his room. "What do you think you're doing?"

Harry hadn't moved from his chair. "Experiments?"

"Don't play dumb with me." She stomped over to his desk and folded her arms. "I found a note in my potions book, telling me about the first task. I want a straight answer. Did you put it there?"

Harry thought about how he wanted to play this. He didn't _think_ he was involved in this plot, but it wasn't his policy to admit that outright. Besides, she'd just gifted him a rare opportunity. "That depends. What information was this note revealing?"

"That the first task was dragons, as if you didn't know already," said Angelina, grinding her teeth. "I wanted to do this task without cheating. I didn't ask _you_ to help me."

"If it makes you feel better, I am fairly certain that both Boris Krum and Marguerite Valentine already know what the first task is."

She scowled. "Oh, and how did you know that? Some stupid magic ritual?"

"No, but word on the grapevine is that Hagrid knows the first task. If Hagrid knows, then everyone knows. Which means that whoever sent you that note was just levelling the playing field."

She rolled her eyes. "Whatever, Harry. It still isn't right. I don't need your help, and if you do something like this again, then I will report you to the authorities."

"Hmm," said Harry, leaning back in his chair. "And why do you think I was involved in this plot, exactly?"

"Well...who else would leave a cryptic note? My friends in Gryffindor would just tell me directly."

Harry shrugged. "I suppose it could have been me. I wouldn't have slipped you the note, though. I would have given it to someone who would give it to someone else, until the 4th or 5th person would put it in your potions notebook or wherever." She blinked, as if surprised he would tell her that. "I learned that from a Slytherin, by the way. They do that sort of thing all the time."

"Are you trying to imply it was a Slytherin?" she said in disbelief.

Harry tented his fingers. "I'm just saying I'm not the only one who would use that strategy. Think of it this way: if it was me, I would need both a means and a strong motive to interfere with the Triwizard tournament. As I've told you, the means is fairly common to Slytherins, and not indicative of me personally. As for the motive, aside from causing chaos, I don't have one. I'm not concerned with the outcome of the competition in any way. Furthermore, my friend Hermione is involved, and the consequences of interfering with her work are a strong deterrent. But perhaps you know someone else who has the means and motive to give you the note?"

Angelina stared at Harry for a long moment, tapping her foot. "You know, you could have just told me from the beginning that you didn't do it."

Harry grinned. "And let you miss the chance to figure it out for yourself?"

"Oh, jeez, you're a pill." She sighed. "Alright. Do you know who might have done it?"

Harry had a few ideas, but no proof, and he didn't want to start a witch…or wizard…hunt. "You'd probably know better than I would, but I'll tell you if I find anything."

"Well...thanks I guess." She brushed a stray lock of hair from her forehead and smoothed back her ponytail. "I suppose I better go figure out how to fight a dragon."

"I don't envy you," said Harry with sympathy. "Good luck."

* * *

Draco combed his hair with his fingers as he approached the doorway, adjusting his robes again and straightening his tie. He was attempting to look professional, but feared he was failing miserably. His father could walk down a hallway with the regal bearing of a king, his presence inspiring awe and commanding respect. Draco felt like a scared little boy, too short and skinny to intimidate even a first year. If only he could at least grow a beard.

Draco put these thoughts aside, focusing on his mission. Out of all the students in Durmstrang, the Empress had chosen to meet him. He hadn't dreamed he would be invited until he was much older, like maybe even twenty-five. He couldn't waste this opportunity on an attack of nerves.

He would have felt better prepared if he knew what to expect, but everything about the Priestess was shrouded in mystery. All that anyone knew was that she was a great witch of indescribably powerful influence. She could grant impossible wishes if she gave someone an audience, even if they wished to bring back someone at the brink of death…but for a price.

Of course, it was also said that those who saw the Priestess were fated to die, but Draco knew better than to believe in superstition. If he died today, it wouldn't be due to fate, it would be because she killed him. He hoped not to give her a reason to, but the whims of the great wizards often lead them to violence. The strong conquered, the weak were subjugated and grateful. Such was the harsh truth of the world.

Draco had already weighed the cost of this meeting in his mind. It could be a trap, but it didn't matter. The risk was worth it.

On the third floor of Durmstrang, there was a room used for secret meetings with people who wished for anonymity and privacy. Draco had used it several times to meet his father's associates to settle his financial accounts. To Draco's surprise, his letter had suggested an entirely different location.

Draco took the stairs to the fifth floor. As he walked down the hall towards his Transfiguration class, he spied a door that hadn't been there yesterday. Draco raised a hand and knocked. The door unlocked and creaked inward, a thin strip of red light illuminating the hallway.

Swallowing his fear, the boy opened the door and peered inside. He had half-expected to be greeted with robed wizards and eerie lighting, a torture device in the corner to provide incentive to remain in line, and several bowing mendicants just for show.

Instead, a young woman who looked no older than a seventh year lounged in a red velvet chaise. She sipped wine from a crystal goblet, sitting with her legs crossed demurely as she motioned to the chair before her. Draco felt like he'd just walked into someone's sitting room, if that someone lived in an ancient Greek temple.

"Come," she said, her bracelets jingling as she beckoned him over. "Please, make yourself comfortable, Lord Malfoy."

She waited until he was situated in the velvet lined chair she'd offered him. Her flowing burgundy robes rustled as she poured him a glass of wine, offering it to him wordlessly. He hesitated a fraction of a second, then took a sip.

She watched him drink, her dark eyes contemplating his features, an amused smile on her expressive face. "I see that you didn't test the wine. You're not afraid of me?"

"Of course I am. I'd be a fool not to be," said Draco, setting down his glass. "But if you wanted to kill me, I imagine you'd choose a better method than poisoning an entire bottle of fine wine."

"Indeed. It lacks creativity, for one thing." She took another sip, letting her fingers linger around the cup. "Were you afraid of Dumbledore?"

"No," he answered honestly. "I hated him."

The words slipped from his mouth, even as his brain screamed for him to shut up. Dumbledore was the greatest wizard in recent history, and by custom this demanded respect. Father's _lackeys_ would never have been so blunt. Even if the Priestess didn't approve of Dumbledore, she would call him a hateful brat with no sense of tact, judge him unworthy, and that would be the end of Draco Malfoy.

The Priestess didn't seem irritated, though, or even the least bit concerned. She twisted one ring around her finger, still observing him. "What do you want from me?"

"I want you to accept me." Draco's heart pounded in fear. More words he hadn't meant to say. "I want to join your cause."

"Oh. Interesting," she said. "Did someone tell you I was recruiting?"

"No, I-" He caught in himself in time. "I suspected it. I shouldn't have presumed."

She took a sip of wine, angling her head to catch the midsummer breeze coming through the window. It ruffled her dark hair, and Draco remembered that in Durmstrang, it had been raining, and October. "You know, you could start your own rebellion if you wanted to. You have gold, connections, and the name of Malfoy."

Draco shook his head. "My family does not have the influence that we once had. Not since father…was found out. Many of our friends and allies have also been branded as Death Eaters. My father's estate has been plundered in reparation for crimes that the Ministry has no proof he committed. On top of that, I am still in school, and influential people have no reason to respect me or follow me yet."

Draco was not making a good case for himself at all. This was madness. "But I am a hard worker, and I am loyal. All that I have, I will pledge to your cause, for it is the same as mine."

"What is your cause?"

"To restore magic to its full power. It has been weakening for years, and still we don't know why or even how to fix it but, but the Ministry—"

"No. Not your political affiliations. I want to know why _you_ want to join my cause."

Draco struggled, but he couldn't seem to stop himself, the words pouring out as soon as he dared to speak. "Because my father was murdered, and the Ministry did nothing but reward the killer!"

There, that was it. The truth he had kept hidden all these years. It was official, Draco Malfoy was dead.

The Priestess took a long moment to think, her brown eyes contemplating. "You have been honest with me, Draco Malfoy, so I will be honest with you. I am leading a movement against the British Ministry, but my interests are entirely self-seeking. I simply wish to retrieve what was stolen from me, which I can no longer find on my own. My quest just so happens to align with the goals of my followers, who are seeking justice for their own grievances. They allow me to use them, and so I do."

She leaned back on the chaise, spreading her arms. "But I am not heartless. I will give everyone who helps me a piece of my fortune. If all goes well, we'll also prevent the prophesies of doom from coming to pass, if this is possible. If you wish for justice, I will give you the tools to obtain it."

Though her mien was relaxed, her dark gaze pierced him. "You should also know that I am quite demanding. I will ask great sacrifices from you." She arched an eyebrow. "My price is your life. Do you still wish to join me?"

Draco's gaze turned inward, considering his reply. He should have been terrified, or at least _cautious_ about handing over the reins to his life to a stranger. Instead, he felt a strangely calm. Perhaps it was her sincerity, or her sense of confidence and authority, but he felt certain she would give what she promised. And yet, as Draco ruminated, he realized there was more to it than that.

For years, Draco had been struggling, seeking a way to make something of the harsh hand he'd been dealt in life. It felt like being trapped in a dark room, scratching the stone walls in the hope he'd eventually break through. Now, a glimmer of light appeared, along with the tools to fight his way out. He'd be a fool to remain in the darkness.

"Do I…have to take an unbreakable vow?"

The Priestess's face remained neutral, but the lines tightened. "No, I will ask no vow from you, only your word. I will know if it is true. Have you decided?"

Draco nodded. He had never been more sure of anything in his life. "Yes. I want to join you."

Her face brightened. "Well, then," she clasped her hands. "Here's my deal. If you leave this room alive, with your memories intact, then I have accepted you. Your final task begins now."

"What do I need to do?" asked Draco.

The Priestess refilled his wine glass and her own, raising it shoulder height, as if to toast. The bangles on her wrists jangled, her many rings glittering. "Tell me," she said. "About what happened on June 13th, 1992."

Steeling his nerves, Draco sipped the wine, taking a moment to collect his thoughts. "That was the day my father died." His voice grew cold. "And it was the day the Dark Lord failed to save the world."

* * *

Author's note: So, speaking of breakfast sausage, did you know that in South Korea, inviting someone inside for ramen is like...Netflix and chill? Just fyi, in case you're tired of using the "coffee" excuse.

Anyway!

Thanks a lot to my beta readers, DarthRevanette and Arenavanera! Darthravenette writes for the Star Wars fandom on Ao3, and Arenavanera is writing a rational fic for RWBY on FFN. I'm an annoyingly picky reader, but I really enjoy reading their work. They're both fantastic authors, check them out! :)


	15. Happy Halloween, Harry Potter

Chapter 15: Happy Halloween, Harry Potter

Hermione woke up early on Tuesday morning. When she realized what day it was, she groaned, pulling her covers over her head.

 _You know,_ suggested her brain. _It wouldn't make you Bad to use the time turner, get a few more hours of sleep before we go on duty?_

The thought was appealing, but when she thought it out...

 _Wait a minute, wouldn't our time turned self have to sleep on the floor or something? Might as well just get up._

Today was a double holiday: All Hallow's Eve, as well as the celebration of You-Know-Who's defeat. One would think that the latter would replace the former, but Halloween was a British holiday and they were firmly determined to keep it. So, the two holidays had morphed into a day to prank your friends with as many jinxes as possible, a sort of macabre way to remind each other that the Dark Lord no longer threatened them with unforgivable curses.

What this usually led to in Hogwarts was barely controlled chaos. Due to the interschool competition, Hermione suspected it would be even worse this year. Britain had fought the Dark Lord alone and won, so there was no way they would be outdone in their jinxes and hexes by Durmstrang's dark arts.

Hermione just knew that she'd spend her day off from classes cleaning up vomit, rescuing panicking students from locked rooms, and deducting house points until everyone was in the negative except Hufflepuff. Of course, the annoying truth was that if the students knew that every house was losing points, then they'd stop caring and abandon themselves to chaos. At least there wasn't a full moon tonight.

When she finally got dressed and headed for breakfast, she was surprised to find no traps in the common room, and no students running through the halls on fire. In fact, other than wearing Halloween colors, everyone was acting the same as usual. Even the ghosts were on their best behaviour. Bewildered, Hermione took her seat at the Ravenclaw table next to Harry, who ate with one hand and held his book with the other.

"It's quiet this morning," she said.

Harry nodded, eyes not leaving the page. "I know. It's nice, isn't it?"

He ate another bite of food, and then said, "The Weasleys are hosting a Halloween party this evening at 9:00 pm. It is rumoured to be spectacularly ghoulish, and there will be merchandise giveaways. They've informed the students that if they wish to attend this party, then they need to contain their pranking until then. If even one student shouts "Boo!" at a first year, the party is cancelled."

Hermione studied Harry's face. Eventually, he turned from his book. "What?"

"That doesn't sound like a Weasley idea. Did you plan this?"

Harry shrugged. "Well, you said you'd been feeling stressed, so I thought it would help if you had one day of not dealing with idiots. Besides," his gaze darkened, "those twins owe me."

"Oh," said Hermione, suddenly very focused on her napkin. "Thank you, Harry."

"You're welcome," he said, turning back to his book.

The part of Hermione that tallied these things added one point to "Yes" on the "Does he like me?" poll. That was contingent on him not being gay, of course. Or asexual, for that matter. Sometime soon she needed to ask him, but it was weird and she wanted to wait for the right moment. "Will you be at the party?" she asked.

He snorted. "No, I'm going to be at the exact opposite side of the castle, hiding in my trunk. You'll probably want to make yourself scarce too," he added in an undertone.

Hermione noticed that most of the professors were missing from the head table. Either they were sleeping late, or they'd come to the same conclusion as Harry and decided to disappear for a while.

A student staggered into the Great Hall and ran towards the Ravenclaw table, stopping just in front of Hermione. In laboured pants, he gasped, "There's spiders in the dungeon! Help, Hermione!"

Harry narrowed his eyes at the boy, while Hermione sighed inwardly. She shouldn't even be surprised, really. At least no one was on fire yet.

"How many spiders? Describe them," said Harry.

The boy fidgeted with his sleeve cuffs, his eyes wide with sweat dripping down his temple. "I don't know, but there's a whole nest in there. They're huge! I've never seen anything like it."

Then, it hit her what he'd just said. "How big are the spiders?"

The boy held his hands out at around a meter long, and Hermione jerked from her seat so fast her knee hit the table.

"What's wrong?" asked Harry, who rose with her.

Hermione fished out her Auror mirror to call the others, letting out a huff of irritation when only Auror Lee responded with a "currently unavailable" automatic message. Wherever they were, they expected her to handle it.

That was the problem with having superpowers. Everyone else got lazy.

"Come on," Hermione said, beckoning Harry to follow. "We're going to go capture some spiders."

* * *

They walked down the hall so fast that Harry struggled to keep up. Hermione did that, from time to time, but he just grit his teeth and picked up the pace. It was bad enough that the boy had only begged Hermione for help with the spider infestation. What would have been so hard about saying, "Help me, Hermione and Harry?" Seriously, he'd been _right there_.

"…Spiders are resistant to stunning hexes," Hermione rambled as she walked. "They move fast, and if they bite you, the surrounding area goes into necrosis within 5 minutes."

"I know, Hermione," said Harry. "I read chapter 9 in Herbology, too."

They entered professor Sprout's storeroom, and Hermione directed him to stuff as many capture crates as possible into his pouch. They were designed to keep small animals safe, which in Harry's opinion, seemed completely unnecessary.

"Why don't we just kill the spiders?" Harry said. "The spell to stun is _Arania Exumai_ , and we could use any method to dispose of them afterwards. Unless you need to keep the remains for potion ingredients, in which case we could use the engorgement spell on a few bags and then levitate them upstairs if it's too heavy."

Hermione shook her head. "We can't use _Arania Exumai_ , as it can be fatal, and we can't kill them."

"Why not?"

Hermione's pouch swallowed another crate. "Because I believe these spiders are sentient."

Harry almost dropped the crate he was carrying. "Are you serious?"

"Yes," said Hermione. "The species Acromantula can grow to the size of a cart horse, can speak once fully grown, and has a taste for human flesh. There's a colony living in the Forbidden Forest."

Harry stared at Hermione. "The Forbidden Forest? You're referring to the patch of vegetation that is not 100 metres from our school gates?"

"Yes," said Hermione, then shoved his arm. "Come on, keep packing crates, you've got to have room in there."

Harry grit his teeth, ignoring the screaming in his head as he stuffed a crate in his pouch. If this were Muggle Britain, and Harry had casually mentioned a colony of man-eating spiders living in a nearby forest, that would have been the start of World War III. Everyone within 100 miles would have been evacuated, the forest would have been air bombed into a smoking crater, and in its place would be erected a statue proclaiming the day of victory. They would make a movie: Attack of the Demon Spiders.

But this was Magical Britain, where man hungry spiders roamed freely within the school zone.

He couldn't wrap his brain around it. If Dumbledore were still headmaster it might make sense, but McGonagall was sane enough to know better. Granted, Harry hadn't heard of spiders ever attacking a student before. In fact, he hadn't even known these creatures existed until now, which seemed to indicate they were meant to be a secret.

"How did you hear about these spiders?" asked Harry.

"Auror training," replied Hermione, glancing sidelong at Harry. "This knowledge isn't meant to be shared, you understand."

Harry had figured as much. If the Aurors were targeting Dark Wizards, and needed a secret torture weapon, man-eating spiders within convenient reach wouldn't be bad. Alternatively, they could be harvested for their venom. Maybe the spiders could only breed in certain climates, and the Forbidden Forest was their natural habitat. It would explain all the warnings to keep out.

But still, even taking that into account, and perhaps it was just his Muggle sensibilities kicking in, keeping a den of spiders next to a bunch of nosy students seemed like an Incredibly Bad Idea.

"That's as many as mine will fit," said Hermione, shaking the bag just in case. "How many did you get?"

"Fifteen, but I have some questions," said Harry. "First of all, on a scale of 1 to 10, how dangerous are these spiders to fifth year wizards?" If he was going to need something from his supply closet, it was better to know now.

"Umm…well, I'll regenerate if I get bitten, but you might need a protection spell. Madam Pomfrey could heal necrosis, but a head bite would really hurt. So, I guess 1 for me, and 3 for you? Of course, that's because I know you can defend yourself and you're not scared of spiders, otherwise it would be like an 8."

Harry quirked a smile at that. "One more question. I used _Legimens_ on the boy, and the terrain we're entering looks hard to fight in. There's not much light and it's full of dark corners that make perfect hiding places." Harry did wonder why the boy was hanging around in dark dungeons, but _Legimens_ hadn't told him that. One more reason to be cautious. "While I don't doubt you can handle yourself against a few spiders, perhaps we should call for backup?"

Hermione folded her arms. "I did call, and no one answered."

"Really? Even the professors?" Surely at least McGonagall or Flitwick would have sent a reply.

"Well…no," said Hermione, shuffling her feet. "I don't have a way to contact them directly. I told the boy to find McGonagall, but I'm not sure if he succeeded."

Harry was about to suggest using her Patronus, but by the slump of her shoulders, he realized she still hadn't figured out how to cast one. Rather than draw attention to that fact, he said, "Give me a minute."

Harry cast his Patronus, directing it to McGonagall, and then again to Flitwick. After a minute, the Patronus returned and said, "McGonagall says: The Potions Master will be there in 10 minutes."

Harry frowned. "Professor Slughorn?" He was a capable professor, but it still seemed like they'd sent him a B-list player for a serious problem. "Hermione, does McGonagall know about the Acromantula or should I tell her?"

"She knows," said Hermione. "All the professors do. Perhaps Slughorn is the most qualified for this." She sighed, rubbing her forehead. "Or perhaps it's just a huge prank and I'm overreacting."

"You're not overreacting, you're being careful." Harry raised his wand. "But if it is a prank, just so you know, it wasn't me."

He cast his Patronus one more time, and sent it away.

"Who was that for?" asked Hermione.

The sound of Neville's voice emanated from Harry's robes. "Copy that. Meet you in Herbology. Dean and Seamus are coming with me."

Harry met Hermione's frown of confusion with a shrug. "Well, we needed a cavalry."

* * *

"I'm going to tell you something that might scare you, so don't freak out," said Harry, taking a deep breath. "Spiders are sentient."

Dean, Seamus and Neville glanced at each other, and then shrugged their shoulders.

"Umm…sentient means—"

"We know, Harry," said Neville. "Professor Sprout tells all Hufflepuffs in their first year, to keep them from exploring the Forbidden Forest."

"Wow, I wish McGonagall would have done that for us," said Dean Thomas. "Then we could have avoided that nasty confrontation in our second year."

Harry's jaw dropped. "Does everyone know about this except me?"

He couldn't help feeling disappointed. He didn't want to be the _only_ one who'd almost started running around screaming.

There was a knock at the door, and it opened to reveal Professor Slughorn and Luna Lovegood. "Hello everyone," said Luna. "Mind if I help you capture the talking spiders? I've never seen one and I hear they have rich, raspy voices."

"Yes, indeed," said Professor Slughorn, chuckling. "And I shall be taking a specimen to show Slytherin, as they will be most keen to study it."

Harry sighed. "So this was never a secret, was it?"

Hermione frowned. "Not really, but just something you don't talk about without a professor present. Some people can't handle the news and must be Obliviated."

For a second, Harry wondered if that included the 1st year version of him.

"Why Hermione, what excellent preparation work," Slughorn said, nodding approval. "Now let's go hunt some vermin."

* * *

"That's five!" shouted Dean, snapping shut another trap.

"I'm on six!" cried Seamus.

"You call that a tiny thing a spider?" declared Dean.

Harry huddled beside his trap, which he had settled near a dark corner. He was not going to chase them, as the Gryffindors were doing, or coo at them like Luna Lovegood. Unfortunately, Harry's sit and wait strategy had caught him one spider, and a puny one at that. He might have cared more, except this entire quest reeked of Hufflepuff and Gryffindor, which meant it was no fun at all.

Hermione, for her part, was doing almost as well as Neville. They had adopted the "bait" strategy where they lured the spiders using tempting butterfly spells, which captured several spiders at once. Harry might have attempted that, but…well…

He couldn't shake the feeling that something bad was about to happen. He decided someone needed to be on lookout duty, and he didn't trust Professor Slughorn to do that. The potions professor was currently standing a few paces from Harry, humming to himself and cleaning his glasses. When they were finally clean, he was smoothing out his robes, as if that mattered in the middle of a poorly lit dungeon.

Harry tried again to cast a spell that enhanced his peripheral vision. This time it worked, and he could see around and above him much more clearly. Harry had prepared several emergency spells for situations like these, practicing them until they became muscle memory. He figured that a baseline level of preparation would minimize the likelihood of "deer in headlights" moments where all your training went out the window, and your wand might as well be a plain stick of wood.

He cast a few more protection spells around his classmates, grimacing because Slughorn was still preening. Luna turned and blinked at him.

A spider wriggled into his trap, and he snapped it shut. _Two._

"Great job, Hermione!" cried Dean. "That's fourteen for you."

"I've got fifteen," said Neville.

"Oy, I haven't forgotten you," said Dean, clapping an arm around his shoulder. "I've got fifteen noogies for you."

Neville backpedaled away as Dean chased him, laughing, while Hermione shook her head.

"Boys, huh?" said Luna, who had moved to stand beside Harry.

"Yeah. Girls, right?" said Harry, just to see what she would do.

Continuing like he hadn't spoken, she said, "I wish the spiders would talk. I was really looking forward to it, but perhaps they're too young."

Professor Slughorn had informed them that these cat-sized spiders had the markings of an Acromantula at around 3 months old. They were small, he said, even for their apparent age. Harry had asked him, "Why would they be at Hogwarts?" Professor Slughorn had shrugged, and asked rhetorically, "How do most spiders get inside a dwelling?"

In Harry's opinion, when it came to man-eating spiders, that answer wasn't remotely good enough. According to Slughorn, the spiders had only been found in Hogwarts once before, back during his tenure, and never again afterwards. Something had changed recently, and Harry needed to figure out what.

With his enhanced vision, Harry studied the walls.

"What are you looking for?" asked Luna.

"A crack big enough for spiders to pass through," said Harry.

"The castle changes," said Luna. "It won't be there now, if it ever was."

Harry peered within the wards of Hogwarts, checking for signs of dark magic or tampering. He only sensed the crawling of spiders, a foreign guest in Hogwarts, but not considered an enemy. That would need to change as soon as this was over.

The room they stood in stretched into the distance, its stone walls covered in a layer of wet grime. The light from their wands flickered against the shadowed corners, as spiders scurried along just out of sight. Harry found his eyes drawn more than once to the back wall.

"Luna," said Harry, pointing. "Do you notice anything about the wall over there?"

"It shimmers," she said. "Like a mirage."

Harry examined it again. The Hogwarts wards said it was a real wall. He'd seen spiders crawling down just before being captured. But something wasn't right about it.

And then, as if it had never been, the wall winked out of existence.

In its place, weighing in at the size of two tanker trucks, was a screeching spider.

* * *

Generally speaking, Neville was fond of animals. Like many Hufflepuffs, he enjoyed Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures. He respected all forms of life and wouldn't mind tending a small menagerie someday.

This creature, however, ought to be dropped into a bottomless pit and nuked into oblivion.

It was a demon spawn created from nightmares. Its legs spanned the length of the room, large as tree trunks, but covered in spiky black hair. Its body heaved with each movement, and its endless chitter of clicking jaws was only interrupted by a piercing scream. It sounded like a baby's wail, causing Neville's hair stand on end.

And as it screamed, Neville could hear its raspy, nails on chalkboard voice intoning, "Run little boy, before I pierce those juicy eyeballs just to hear them squelch."

Neville tried covering his ears, but it only seemed to highlight the throbbing and chittering as it reverberated throughout the room.

"Ahh, so the mother returns for her children," said Professor Slughorn, his tone wistful, almost reverent.

Neville saw Dean Thomas hissing and backing up, his robes drenched in sweat. Seamus stood beside him, his teeth grinding in fear. Luna sat on the floor, head in her hands, rocking back and forth and mumbling to herself. Hermione's eyes never left the creature, her face lined with worry.

From the back of the room, Harry called out. "Hermione, can you subdue it?"

She glanced at him, her face deeply concentrating, then nodded. "I think so, but…"

"We'll back you up, if you need us," said Harry. "Do your best."

Hermione gave a sign of assent, and then moved to stand directly in front of the spider. A wordless exchange passed between the two, and Hermione raised her wand, her gaze shifting to one of defiance. She touched the wand to her chest, and a green spell swirled around her arms and legs. A few moments later, a glowing rope fell into her hands.

Neville's heart rate quickened as he realized Hermione had just challenged the spider to a duel.

When he was first starting out as a duelist, Neville learned quickly from the other boys about the unspoken rules. The first was that if a girl was attempting to duel, you must stop what you were doing to watch. First of all, because it was a rare thing of beauty, but also, what if she needed advice on how to duel properly? If it were two girls duelling, however, you had a moral obligation to call your friends and tell them to come to the duelling room immediately.

So, following the unspoken rule, all the boys positioned themselves to watch Hermione battle the spider.

The fight began. Hermione moved so quickly, Neville could barely keep up, but he watched her dodge the spider's pinchers, lacing each leg with a glowing rope before jumping off again, attaching herself to a wall or the ceiling. The spider's pincers snapped at her as she was leaping off the wall, and she spun and kicked its eye, dealing a sickening crunch that caused the spider to shudder and shriek.

Hermione did not let up. She grappled one of its legs and twisted, its outer shell snapping as she wound the rope.

Five legs bound. Six. The rope wound tense knots around poles, causing the legs to pull and stretch. Neville watched the fight with rapt attention. He was reminded of the time he'd seen some of his housemates grinning madly after an owl gave them a colourful book with pictures of an Amazonian woman on the front. He was beginning to understand the appeal.

When the fight ended, the spider's thorax barely touched the ground, as most of its weight was held within the twelve lines of rope that bound it—eight on the legs, four around the body.

Hermione tightened the ropes, binding them securely with another flick of her wand. Then, with another movement, she cleaned her robes, but it did nothing to tame her wild curls. Everyone's eyes followed her as she walked back over to confer with Slughorn.

The fight was over, but Neville's heart was still pounding, and he felt practically giddy. Neville knew he didn't like Hermione that way, but you'd have to be dead inside not to notice her.

"That was the most awesome thing I've ever seen," said Dean reverently.

"Y-yeah," said Seamus, swallowing.

Harry didn't say anything, but his stare spoke for itself. Then, blinking and shaking his head, he said, "Keep your wands on the spider. The stunning spell is _Arania Exumai_. Use it if you must."

He walked forward to join Hermione and Professor Slughorn, and Neville trained his wand on the spider.

Neville's mind went back to the first day he'd learned about Acromantula. He'd been a nervous first year, and his response to learning about this new enemy was to find out everything he could about them, so he could stop freaking out. He'd gone to the Gryffindor prefect, who told him that the Acromantula won't bother students because of Hagrid. He was friends with their leader, Aragog, and so all of his clan obeyed him. The prefect also said that Acromantula are repulsive, ugly beasts that are a prime example of why experimentation on animals is forbidden.

The spider barely stirred, but Neville could tell it watched them with quiet menace. A few paces away stood Harry, gesturing towards the beast, his voice soft but insistent. Neville suspected that Harry would want to kill the spider, but it wasn't so simple. Even though the spiders ate their own dead, they were loyal. The colony would see any violence as a threat against their community.

That still didn't change the fact that a giant spider was inside Hogwarts, attacking students, when Hagrid had expressly forbid it.

Neville could feel his stomach lurch when he realized. Aragog was dead.

His mind buzzing, he kept his wand on the spider as he moved towards Harry. He needed to warn him. As he approached, Neville realized they already knew, and were devising a plan.

"…The Aurors don't want—"

"Well, they're not here, are they?" Harry's voice was sharp. "And if Slughorn is correct that they left all the spiders in the Forbidden Forest just because Hagrid _liked them_ , then forgive me, but I don't trust them to handle this situation." Harry thrust a finger at the giant beast. "That Acromantula _threatened_ us. We are responsible for protecting Hogwarts, and the only thing that spider will respect is power. They need a reason to fear us, or more specifically, me."

"You're talking about torture, Harry." Hermione's voice rose. "There has to be another way."

Harry shook his head. "No. You still don't understand. The spider laid its eggs in here to bait us. It wanted us to kill them, to give an excuse for its attack." Harry's eyes flashed, his voice sharp with cold anger. "Did you hear what the Acromantula said? It said they would invade, our students would be devoured, and our school would be left a barren ruin! And why? Because they're _bored_. Because they're tired of eating forest animals, and hungry for human flesh. They don't deserve your pity or mine."

Neville knew all about pack animals and displays of dominance. He understood what Harry was trying to do, but the coldness in his demeanour made Neville's skin crawl. Harry had explained to Neville once that he sometimes used his anger to go to his dark side, but only because it allowed him to think more clearly and get in the head of his enemy. Neville didn't know if this was a good idea or not, but he really didn't like Cold Harry.

"I don't plan on hurting the creature," said Harry. "Not unless I have to. But I will demand answers, and it has to _believe_ I'm willing to kill it if necessary. If not, our plan won't work." He folded his arms. "Once we interrogate it and obtain the information we need, we can remove the colony from the Forbidden Forest by whatever method the Aurors choose. Until then, we have to make a show of force to protect ourselves from further attacks."

Hermione started to respond, but Professor Slughorn reached out and touched her arm.

"He's right," said Slughorn, gently. "There are some situations that require ruthlessness. You are too young to understand, but in many parts of the world, a leader is expected to return violence for violence. The people expect blood on the ground, and for them, a democratic approach is considered weak and submissive. The Acromantula are not a peaceful species—they are aggressive and warlike, and must be handled appropriately."

"But…we don't know all of that, you're just assuming…but even if it were true…" She bit her lip, her eyes pleading. "Harry, you're…you're just a student. It's not your job."

The cold look in his eyes softened, but only a little.

"I don't mind," said Harry quietly. "I'm doing what needs to be done...what we need to do to protect the school." He ran a hand through his hair. "In any case, we have to make a decision quickly. Those ropes won't hold it for long."

Neville squared his shoulders, and moved forward.

"Harry, please," he said. "I'm not going to try to dissuade you. I don't know what's right or wrong, but…just know that Acromantula are very loyal, and might decide to escalate rather than back down. If we're wrong about why the spider came here, then we need to figure out the truth before…" Neville's fists tightened. "We do something we regret."

"Of course," said Harry, his face tight. "Like I said, I'll interrogate first, and only use stronger techniques if I must." Harry cast a brief glance back to Hermione, and then moved towards the spider.

Neville had learned that at times fate liked to mess with you. He could almost see the hands of some higher power jerking the world order in ways that were too improbable to be coincidence.

At the exact moment when Harry approached the spider, it began twitching violently, and then died.

Everyone stood perfectly still, as if waiting for fate to deal another blow. Then Harry turned and asked, his voice confused, "Can spiders self-terminate?"

A moment later, the doors to the room burst open, and in strode a furious McGonagall.

* * *

McGonagall had woken a groggy mess that morning to the blinding sight of Harry's Patronus. She and the other professors had spent the evening tossing back a few pints, in preparation for the insanity of Halloween. Then Moody had suggested a drinking game, and somehow they'd all decided to accept, probably because Moody could be so damn charming when he wanted to be. And now she was wondering why her robes were pink, and she had no idea how she'd gotten into her bed.

"Professor, there's dangerous spiders in the dungeon, and I'm requesting assistance."

"Of course you are," grumbled McGonagall, rolling over. She mumbled, "The Potions Master will be there in 10 minutes."

She fumbled for her wand and sent her Patronus to Slughorn, who had a high tolerance due to his fondness for wine. His chipper response made her wince. "I'll be there in two shakes. Enjoy your lie in, Minnie."

She flung her hand over her eyes, a sense of shame welling up inside her. She knew it was wrong. She wasn't a young witch anymore, and she couldn't be so reckless. But just once, she wanted to stay in bed and not be the one dealing with Harry's shenanigans.

About an hour later, the wards of Hogwarts told her something was wrong.

Feeling slightly better, she cast the Everywhere Vision spell, a gift from the ward spells of a Hogwarts. She was shocked to see Hagrid thrashing around the hallways, wild with fear, trying to throttle a house ghost. "Where is she?! Tell me where she is!"

She immediately sent her Patronus, and Hagrid responded, "Aragog is dead, and now his daughter is missing! One of the kids captured her for a prank!"

This was why she never told the Gryffindors about the Acromantula. Biting back a few swear words, she called a house elf. "Apparate me to Hagrid, and then the Dungeons!"

Moments later, the door to the dungeon room burst off its hinges as Hagrid stormed in, McGonagall and Sprout close on his heels. One glance at the spider, suspended in the air, and she knew they were already too late.

"No! Cronia!" cried Hagrid, falling to his knees before the creature's massive head. "What have they done to ye?"

Harry had the nerve to glare at her.

"Well well," he said, folding his arms, his tone icy. "I hope you all have an extraordinarily good excuse for being late."

The Headmistress gave him the Executioner Glare, cold enough to freeze a lake of lava, and Harry snapped his mouth shut.

"Explain this," she barked at Professor Slughorn.

During the ensuing explanation, which was about as ludicrous as everything involving Harry, she noticed Luna Lovegood approach Hagrid, who was crying into his massive hands. She patted his back, and said, "She had a nice voice."

Slughorn explained the situation. "We'd planned to send her back to her group with a disguised tracker when she died. We've been performing tests, but the method of death is not evident."

"I see," said McGonagall when they finished, though she didn't understand at all.

"In my opinion," said Slughorn, slipping into his lecturer mode. "The Acromantula probably suspected what we planned to do, and decided to end her own life. They are quite intelligent creatures, and poisonous Ashtree roots are plentiful in the Forbidden Forest.

"T'was the rope," sighed Hagrid, twisting a mite of it in his hands. "The Acromantula have lungs, just as people do. Strung up in the air like that, with its head twisted, it couldn't breathe."

Hermione blanched. "Are...are you sure?"

"I disagree," said Slughorn. "She didn't struggle before she died, so asphyxiation isn't likely."

"Look at these wounds!" Hagrid cried, pointing to red welts in the spider's neck. "The rope is too tight!"

"She tried to attack us!" countered Harry. "What does it matter how she died? It's better than dead students!"

"Harry!" The Headmistress shouted. "Watch your tone!"

The boy could be so insolent, and to a grieving man at that.

"No," said Hagrid, his voice bitter and broken. "Harry is right. It doesn't matter now. She's gone, and I know you didn't mean to harm 'er."

McGonagall wished in that moment she had a staff, so she could thump it on the ground, bringing order to the room. "Alright, everyone, this is what we'll do. Hagrid and Sprout will take care of the spider. Slughorn, you will come with me and we will discuss how to handle the Acromantula problem. Call the Aurors and the Professors, and if they don't respond, we'll send howlers. Hermione," she said, turning to the girl. "Get everyone out of here and ensure that all prefects know the school is under lockdown."

* * *

McGonagall called Hermione to her office that evening to apologize. She said the spider's death was not her fault, regardless of the cause. At the same time, she commended Hermione's efforts in protecting the school, and warmly stated that she would make a great leader someday. McGonagall showed Hermione a spell that would allow her to contact any professor immediately, in case it was necessary.

McGonagall and Madam Bones called each student, one by one, to relate their accounts of what happened in the dungeon, including what the Acromantula said to them. When Luna Lovegood recounted her tale, McGonagall was so shocked that she was thankful she was sitting down, or else her knees might have given way. Even Madam Bones' steel expression flickered.

By the following afternoon, there were no more Acromantula left in the Forbidden Forest.


	16. A Ravenclaw's Quest

Chapter 16: A Ravenclaw's Quest

The following three days of classes were useless. With the excitement of the Acromantula attack, the end of midterms, and the Triwizard tournament, the professors gave up on teaching and let the students have fun. Flitwick showed his students some cool duelling tricks, while Tonks let the students play Exploding Snap at their desks. Slughorn gave a lecture about the quest for self-discovery in modern literature, and encouraged students to achieve their dreams.

With less work to do than usual, Hermione decided to clock in some duelling hours with Auror Lee.

Hermione liked practicing with him. He was an easy-going teacher and rarely corrected her duelling, but when he did, it was always useful advice. She wished she could ask him to be her mentor, but she didn't think he'd want the responsibility. After his last class on Friday, he always left school to be with his family in Munich, and he didn't return until Monday morning.

After he signed her duelling log, Hermione prepared to leave. Upon opening the door, she bumped into Harry, who stumbled away like he'd been caught peeking in the girls' bathroom.

"Harry? What are you doing here?" asked Hermione.

"Umm…" said Harry, straightening up and pinning his hands behind his back. "I came to talk to you."

"About what?" asked Hermione, though she already knew. She'd kept to herself these last few days.

He took a deep breath. "I'm not here to apologize," he said. "Since I didn't do anything wrong. But I don't like it when we argue, so tell me what I have to do to fix it."

Hermione sighed, realizing this was their pattern. She'd get upset, he'd come and beg for forgiveness, and she'd mete out some kind of punishment. It was stupid, but more importantly, it should only be reserved for when he really messed up.

She offered him a timid smile. "I'm not angry with you. I'm…scared, I guess."

"Why? You're not afraid of an Acromantula attack, are you? McGonagall informed me that they'd all been taken care of."

She shook her head. "No, it's not about the spiders."

He frowned at the stone floor. "Is it…because I got angry?"

That was part of it. Whenever he went into a cold rage, he became dangerous, like a ruthless fiend fyre that would scald her if she got close. Even now, the memory made her shudder. But in reality, it wasn't that he'd tried to psychologically torture the spider that scared her the most. It was that he might have been right. Hermione didn't know how to explain this to him in a way he would understand, so she'd spent the last few days trying to deal with it on her own.

She didn't say anything, but her silence seemed to speak for itself. Harry winced and said gently. "I'm sorry I scared you. I'll try not to in the future."

He reached out and gave her an awkward shoulder pat, and Hermione couldn't help but smile. Sometimes, the things he did were so unusual that she found them adorable. "You're so cute, Harry."

His hand fell off her shoulder. "I'm not, though," he replied.

"Yes, you are," said Hermione. "And I'm sorry I made you worry. Next time you're being annoying, I'll just tell you so."

"Good, I much prefer that," he said, then grimaced. "Cute? Really? I'm fairly certain I haven't been called cute since I bit my maths teacher."

She laughed, and that seemed to break the last of the tension. His face broke into a warm smile that went all the way to his eyes. "Well, since we're both here, want to go do some science? That project isn't going to finish itself."

"Ok," said Hermione, her voice teasing. "But only a little science."

"Err…did you want to do something else?"

Hermione wanted to smack herself. She'd forgotten his habit of taking things literally. And, also, the fact that he might be into guys.

As they walked down the hallway, she could feel the unexpected tug on her insides. It was the call to adventure.

Harry glanced at her, and she knew he could sense it too somehow. He raised his eyebrows in question.

"Oh, I don't know," she grumbled. "If it's another Hufflepuff quest, I'll scream."

"Bet you a sickle that it's not," he said, lifting his eyebrows, a smirk egging her on.

"Well…." She contemplated for a moment. "I suppose we could always do science after."

"Exactly," he said enthusiastically. "We can do all the science you want."

* * *

The quest door was studded with glowing blue sapphires. As they solved the riddle, light flooded the cave. The walls glimmered with an iridescent sheen, like they were inside of a pearl.

Before entering the Ravenclaw room, Harry cast a forlorn glance at the unlocked Slytherin door. He made a passing comment about getting two quest prizes instead of one, but Hermione shook her head.

"What if I need help with the Ravenclaw quest?" she said innocently.

He snorted. "Ridiculous. And besides, if we—"

"Merlin says," said Hermione, smiling sweetly. She felt a little high off the fact she could say that to him, and then that made her feel Bad.

"Oh…fine," grumbled Harry, growing thoughtful. "I wonder how doing a quest as a team might affect the quest prize."

Hermione took his hand and led him inside the quest door. She knew there were Ravenclaws who would pay good money to have a locked, secret room where they could take their boyfriends, but Hermione firmly shoved that thought from her mind.

The first quest was a giant scavenger hunt set in a Victorian style mansion, where they had to solve clues to unlock new doors. The challenging puzzles had them scrambling for paper to draw diagrams, and knocking on the bases of plants to see if doors would open. Bouncing with excitement, Hermione told Harry that if she ever bought a mansion, she was going to hold puzzle parties every year.

The final puzzle unlocked the door to a giant library. The bright light of a chandelier revealed row upon row of ancient looking books that had Hermione salivating.

"Is this the quest prize?" asked Hermione, breathlessly. "If so, I'll take everything!"

She didn't care if she had to empty her pouch to do it. As she approached a shelf, Harry grabbed her shoulder.

"Wait, Hermione," he said. "Don't touch anything."

"Why not?" she replied.

In response, he pointed to the spines of the nearest shelf. "What do the book titles say?"

Hermione read the glistening golden spines. "This one says, 'The Ancient Magic to Casting Patronus' and this one says, 'A Veela's Guide to Sedu—UMM…." Her face flushed red, and she trailed off. "Stuff."

Harry's shoulders slumped in resignation. "They look different to me. This one says, 'The Wizards Who Achieved Space Travel' and this one says, 'Source of Magic.'" He turned to Hermione, a bitter look on his face. "Our task is to exit the opposite door without touching anything. As soon as we open a book, we'll likely be stricken blind."

"Oh…well…" Hermione glanced back at the bookshelf longingly. "That's fine, we can just use the read aloud spell, right?" Her fingers glided towards a book. Harry caught her hand, his grip telling her he struggled as much as she did.

"I understand," he said. "Really, I do, but we have to consider the facts. There is no conceivable reason for there to be so many enchanted books related to our deepest desires, unless it's a trap. Besides, telling a Ravenclaw not to read books because it'll bring their doom is just…how wizards think."

Hermione gave the books one last, longing look, and then spun to face the exit door.

"For the record," said Hermione, trudging away from the bookshelves. "It's a stupid test."

"Agreed," said Harry.

Her arms folded against the unfairness of it all, Hermione passed through the door.

The new room they found themselves in was completely dark. Hermione and Harry lit up their wands, but the darkness remained impenetrable. Harry explained that sometimes it took time to determine the next quest, so they were basically in limbo.

Suddenly, stage lights flooded the room, and Hermione squinted against the brightness. As her eyes adjusted, she stared across what looked to be a wooden stage, set with three chairs. Hermione could hear cheering and clapping from off stage, but the light shone in such a way that she couldn't see anyone.

Harry cursed. Before she could ask why, a goblin appeared, smiling and waving to the crowd as he took his place in center stage. "Muggles!" he said. "Love them or hate them, they have such interesting quirks. How much do you know about Muggle trivia? Hermione and Harry, come on down! You're the first contestants on Muggle Mayhem!"

They walked all of three steps towards centre stage, and the goblin gestured for them to sit down. "Welcome! I'm your host. Nice to see you again, Harry! Always a pleasure."

"Let's get on with this," said Harry, slumping into the chair and folding his arms.

"Right! As you know, I will give you 15 questions, and you have three lives. First question: What is the capital of New York State?"

"Albany," blurted Hermione.

"Wrong!" said the host. "The answer is New York City!"

"But that's…not right," said Hermione, confused.

Harry had his head in his hands. "I should have warned you. It's Muggle Studies, Hermione, not Trivial Pursuit. You've got to answer each question like a Ravenclaw who got dropped on their head as a baby."

"Next question! Who won the War of the Roses?"

Hermione knew the answer was the House of Lancaster, but she bit it back, glancing at Harry. "What do we do?"

"Think of something stupid and answer."

"Umm….the Gardener?"

"Correct! You have one point! Nine more to win!"

Hermione opened her mouth, and closed it. She hadn't expected that to work. But, she decided that, while it might be incorrect trivia, as long as there was a pattern they might have a chance.

"Question 3: What giant animal terrorizes young children in the United States?"

Harry and Hermione held a whispered conference, where they listed all the animals they knew of from storybooks and movies. "Snuffleupagus," Harry said.

"Wrong! The answer is Barney the Dinosaur."

"I knew it!" cried Hermione. They'd dismissed that option on account of it being a rather new show.

"You answer the next one then," Harry muttered, sitting back and folding his arms.

"Next question: What terrifying nursery rhyme is actually based on killing people?"

Hermione only had to think for two seconds. "All of them."

"Correct! Two points. Next question: What monster inhabits the Pacific Ocean?"

Hermione could tell he was still sulking, but she pulled Harry towards her and whispered, "Two clues: ocean name and monster. What could it be?"

"Marianas trench," said Harry. "Uhh…Cthulhu?"

"What's in the Atlantic Ocean?" Hermione asked.

After a few more seconds, they decided on the most random answer, "Bermuda."

"Correct! Three points."

This continued for a while, with Harry and Hermione debating each question before answering. They got a streak of four questions right, which was exhilarating, and then the next question was, "How and where did hot dogs get their name?"

Hermione took in a sharp breath. "Can we pass?"

Harry shook his head. "This quiz game seems to like brutal answers too."

"Well…" said Hermione, struggling to find the words.

Harry didn't hesitate. "Hot dogs come from dog meat, first invented in Asia."

"Wrong! The first hot dogs came from France, eaten by the Franks, who smelled like dogs!"

"Oh, fuck you," said Harry. Hermione jumped as a metal Bludger hit him on the head, knocking him off the chair.

"Language!" cried the goblin. "Sorry to say, that was your last chance, so I'm afraid you've lost this round. As punishment, you will be consigned to the Desert of Despair. Join us next time on Muggle Mania!"

* * *

Hermione sat on a hill, shielding herself from the sun, as Harry occupied himself kicking sand dunes.

He'd been at this activity for the last five minutes. When she'd asked him why, he'd just explained that she ought not to talk to him for the moment. So, she'd remained silent, watching him cover his robes with sand and mutter curses that she'd quieted out.

She raised her gaze beyond the sand to the cloudless blue sky in the horizon. A trickle of sweat ran down her brow, and she wiped it as the dry heat clogged her throat. It was unnerving how well Hogwarts could simulate an actual desert, considering that there were none in England. Unless, of course, the castle had teleported them, which was even more disconcerting.

After a short time, Harry trudged back over towards Hermione and sat two feet away from her. He sunk down into the sand and put his head on his arms, glowering at the world.

"So," Hermione said, bracing herself for a biting response. "How long are we stuck here?"

"An hour at least," he muttered.

Hermione knew he hated losing, but even for him this reaction was over the top. Probably something else was bothering him. She wanted to get him to talk about it, even though she knew he'd probably snap at her. It would hurt her feelings, but she could bear it if it would help him feel better.

"Did you know I created a wormhole?" said Harry.

"Huh?" said Hermione.

"Yeah, I did," he said. "I connected my trunk to my pouch, so I could access items from either one. Technically, I think what happened was I stretched the two spaces and linked them to each other, but under any definition that seems like a wormhole."

"That's…good, I guess?"

He grunted. "Yes, well, wait until you hear how I did it. You see, I knew what I wanted to do, so I set out looking for the appropriate spell. I must have looked through every charms book in the library. I wrote down the spells that looked promising, and upon reviewing them, I noticed something strange."

He paused, drawing his wand to blast away the scorpion that was crawling nearby. "One incantation was used to enchant magic necklaces. Its purpose was to link two people, allowing them to immediately send objects and messages to each other. It was too difficult for me to cast, since it required phoenix tears and the bonds of eternal love, or something. Then I found another spell, called Bookends." His face twisted into a wry grimace. "This spell was created by a wizard who was annoyed at the house elves knocking over his bookends while dusting. So, he created a spell that would always link the two together, to keep them on his mantle. It turned out that this spell was remarkably similar to the necklace spell, and after making a few changes, I cast it and it worked. Now I can draw anything from either one as long as they aren't more than 1000 meters apart, and they aren't at a 45 degree angle, for some blasted reason."

When Harry didn't immediately continue his story, Hermione said, "I don't understand. Are you annoyed because it worked?"

Harry sighed, his fingers digging into the sand. "No, it's not that. It's one of my greatest successes, to be honest. I even was able to cast the same spell on my pocket, but that, unfortunately hasn't been as successful. I've been able to modify it somewhat using extension charms and by updating the parser, but it's still a work in progress.

"No, what annoys me is that I can't figure out how I did it, which means I can't easily apply what I did to any further research, such as space flight. I mean, even if I do end up traveling across the galaxy through strategically placed trunks, I need to know how it works so I don't kill myself. Also, there's the fact that I created a _wormhole_ using a _Bookends spell_."

"Well…" Hermione tried to be positive. "A lot of important discoveries began with serendipitous accidents. Penicillin was discovered from bread mold in an open petri dish. With some time, you should be able to figure out why it works."

"Yes, but there's an important difference. That open petri dish was the launch point for further research. Scientists could study it and figure out why it was killing bacteria, because we had at least a century of research in biology and how microbes work. They didn't just stuff bread mold down people's throats and pray it would heal people. They analysed samples, created cultures and isolated the antimicrobial compound. But I can't do that, because magic doesn't follow any consistent rules of science or logic that I'm aware of.

"Take this Bookends spell, for instance. It required the sacrifice of a favourite book memory. Tell me, why would a wormhole require memories to operate? I've found literally no connection with other magics to apply this to. And _why_ do the laws of physics bend their will to a wizard who wants bookends, but don't allow me to create a vacuum chamber? Why does magic work fine at the North Pole, but not a few miles above the Equator?"

He rubbed his head in his hands.

"Since I started at Hogwarts, my goal has been to harness the secrets of magic using the power of science. Instead, I've collected an entire notebook full of equations and data that contradict each other. Every new discovery I make seems to add to the confusion." He sighed. "Maybe magic is crazy because humans designed the rules, but the fact is, for the purposes of my research, I have to learn to play by those rules. And so far, my experiments have shown me that everything I know is wrong, and all the laws of physics need to be rewritten. That means I have 500 years of work to do all by myself, and if I can't figure out the important things in time, then death will win in the end, taking everyone I love with it." He trailed off, grinding his teeth. "Sometimes, I feel like all I'm doing is trying to answer those stupid Muggle Studies questions. No matter how hard I work, I can never get it right."

Hermione placed her hand over his, feeling a pang at the vulnerability she saw in his eyes. "I'm sorry, Harry."

He swallowed, and said, "This air is so dry."

Hermione transfigured a cup and cast _Aguamanti_. Harry drank the water, then set the cup down in the sand, staring for a long moment. "I don't want you to get the wrong idea," said Harry. "I'm not giving up. And I'm not complaining because I want pity."

"I know," said Hermione.

"But, in the spirit of honesty, I will say that I'm jealous of you." Hermione blinked, watching him scratch a pattern in the sand with his fingers. "I want to laugh at the kid who used to daydream about low hanging research fruit. I knew it would take time to figure out magic, I didn't realize it would be an endless, uphill battle. Whereas you, on the other hand," he turned to her. "You're an Auror-in-training, a leader, and you inspire people. There's proof that what you're doing is working. Meanwhile, I'm spinning my wheels and floundering. If I at least had some sign, maybe, that I was on the right track, it would be easier."

There was a moment of silence as Hermione considered what to say. "I know this is frustrating, Harry," she said, gently squeezing his hand. "But I do think you're being too hard on yourself. Most 5th year students don't even do their homework, and you're pioneering magical research _and_ making progress. I know it seems impossible right now, but I think if anyone could solve this problem, it would be you." She nudged his shoulder with hers. "I mean, with your brains, you could probably rewrite all the laws of physics in 300 years at the most." She caught his smile. "And you know, if you ever need me, I'll be there to help you."

He put his arm around her shoulder, tipping his gaze towards the setting sun. "With you on my team, we'll get it done in 150 years." They sat that way for a moment, and then Harry said, "And just so you know, I am proud of you too."

Hermione smiled gently, feeling the warmth of his arm spreading into the rest of her.

They sat that way a few moments, quiet and peaceful, and then Hermione made the mistake of asking Harry what he was thinking about.

Harry launched into a long presentation on his latest theories about the Source of Magic and the Immortality Problem. One of his favourite theories at the moment was that they were all inside a simulation of the real world, which explained the strange rules about magic and the reason for magical exhaustion, aka "magical system conservation mode."

"See, if we're all living in a simulation, then the use of too much magic would overload the system, thus necessitating an artificially induced 'magical exhaustion' to put a cap on things. Of course, magical exhaustion could also be explained by nanobots, which would be controlled by the Source of Magic—"

"Umm, Harry," said Hermione, before he could launch into another theory. "I have a question."

"What's up?"

"I know your research is important to you so…why did you spend half of last year playing this game? You mentioned it's to help with the fundraising, but is it giving you truckloads of Felix Felicis or something? Because so far all I've seen is weird stuff we can't use."

"Well, part of it is the spell books and potion ingredients, as they have been useful in cutting production costs with Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. But aside from that…" Harry paused a moment, chewing his lip. "Have you ever heard of Slytherin's monster?"

"The basilisk? I know it was found dead in Hogwarts sometime in the 1950s."

Harry nodded. "Professor Quirrell told me that the basilisk once held all of Salazar Slytherin's knowledge, a treasure trove of high level magic that can only be passed on from one living mind to another. The creature was killed by Voldemort to horde those secrets to himself, and now it's lost for good." He sighed, as if he couldn't think of this without pain. "Still, while there is no way to retrieve that information, I am strongly inclined to believe that Salazar was not the only one to leave ancient knowledge within Hogwarts." Harry stretched his hand out to the mysterious desert. "As you can see, this castle is full of powerful, forgotten magic. I have a hunch that there is an important secret in Hogwarts that I am meant to find, something that will explain everything."

"The missing link," said Hermione.

"Exactly," said Harry. "Hopefully regarding immortality or the Source of Magic, though Ravenclaw's diadem would be a nice consolation prize."

Hermione stretched her legs out into the sand. "Not to mention, the quests are a bit more exciting than lab work."

"Well, that too," said Harry. "And it's nice to get a prize at the end, instead of inconclusive test results. I've got my whole life to study magic, but only two more years to explore Hogwarts. So, I've allotted a suitable amount of time for the quests in my schedule."

Hermione tilted back her head as a cool breeze blew over them. It was almost too dark for them to see each other now. Harry glanced at his watch, and said, "Dinner's in five minutes, so our punishment time is almost up."

As they sat together under the stars, Hermione wished they didn't have to leave. The cold around them made his presence at her shoulder feel that much warmer. As they made their way through the quest door, Hermione was preparing herself for the crush of first years who loved swarming her over dinner, when Harry turned the wrong way at a corner.

"The Great Hall is that way," said Hermione, pointing.

"I'm not hungry," he said. "I'm feeling inspired to do some research. You can stop by after dinner, if you want."

Hermione smiled and skipped to his side. "Let's go together."

* * *

That evening, Hermione and Tonks stood together in the Forbidden Forest, keeping guard over the dragons. The greatest danger would be meddling Gryffindors, but unfortunately, they were all keeping their mischief contained to the Hogwarts castle.

Tonks knew this task would be awfully dull, and in order to avoid boredom induced mischief, she looked for a distraction. Usually, Hermione was good for that sort of thing, as she would at least listen while Tonks rambled about something.

Tonight, however, Hermione was a million miles away, staring off at nothing. Every so often, she'd giggle to herself and then fall back into contented silence.

"Well, somebody's happy," Tonks said. "Did you ace a test or something?"

Emerging from her happiness cloud, Hermione said, "No, I just did research all night."

"Oh, exciting," said Tonks. "Potions…boring textbooks…okay, what were you really doing?"

"Studying charms to increase 'database' size within a spell. We didn't make any progress, but we did find 59 ways that don't work." Her eyes brightened with laughter, and she covered her mouth with her hand. "And one way that explodes in your face."

"Oh?" said Tonks. "What happened?"

She couldn't seem to stop giggling. "Harry was trying to...link the spells and then it backfired so bad his hair turned bright red! His face was so shocked, you should have seen it." She tried to mimic it, but her giggling kept it from looking right. "Then I started laughing, and he was so indignant! I couldn't help it, he's so cute when he's angry. And then he was teasing me and trying to get me to blow it up in my face too, but I was like, 'Some results don't _need_ reproduction, Harry.'"

"Ah…hmm," said Tonks, frowning at the sudden feeling of disquiet. "You've been spending a lot of time with him lately."

"Yes, I've been helping him research, and we study together, of course."

"Is that all?"

"Well…some other things too, but I'm not sure if I should mention that yet." After a few seconds, Hermione flushed in realization. "Nothing inappropriate, I promise."

Tonks took a deep breath. "Hermione, I'm your friend, right?"

"Yes."

"So, then, I want you to listen to me. Experience has shown me that if your friends don't approve of a bloke, then it's for a good reason. Trust me, I learned that the hard way."

"Wait…you think…me and Harry…?" Hermione laughed. "Oh no, it's not like that. We're just good friends. I mean, he might even be gay."

"Hermione, if you actually were a unicorn, you'd be sparkling right now. It's obvious you have feelings for him."

"Umm…well…just a little bit. But it's not serious."

Hermione had never been a good liar. Maybe she believed the lie, but Tonks didn't. "I've heard things about Harry. Most of them aren't good."

She rose to his defence. "He can be a bit abrasive, but he's just honest, and—"

"He manipulates people. He's arrogant and has anger issues. You've studied psychology, what does that sound like to you?"

Hermione let out a huff of disbelief. "He's not a psychopath."

"Well, if he's not that, then he's at least a jerk. Those boys can be fun, but they don't make good boyfriends. And I know you aren't the type to play around." Hermione's face crumbled, and Tonks put a hand on shoulder. "I don't want to see you get hurt."

Hermione shook her head. "Harry would never hurt me."

"Not on purpose, but it wouldn't have to be. Love makes you vulnerable." Tonks worried she was messing this up. She'd only ever been on the receiving end of the Talk, and it had taken three broken hearts before she realized she didn't always know best.

"Well," said Tonks. "I've said what I need to say. Who knows, maybe I'm wrong about him. All I'm going to ask is that you come to me if you need advice. I did all the stupid things so you don't have to." Hermione smiled as Tonks nudged her arm. "Also, if he ever hurts you, let me know so I can knock him into next Tuesday."

"Oh don't worry," said Hermione. "If he does anything stupid, I'll punch him myself."

"Atta girl!" Tonks beamed.

Before Tonks could say anything else, she heard a twig snap. Her face twisted into an expectant grin. She turned and fired a hex with her wand, illuminating two boys who fell to the ground.

"Ha ha! 20 points from Slytherin. Did you really think you could get past not one, but two brilliant Aurors?"

The boys scrambled up, and Tonks recognized one as the 7th year who had challenged her on her first day. "Aww, come on, we just wanted to help you out. Have mercy, Professor."

Tonks frowned. That 7th year was giving her the sort of look that she wasn't comfortable with. "If you want to give us detention, we're okay with that though. We can serve it right here on the grounds, patrolling for Gryffindors."

She wanted to hex them both for insolence, but her intuition told her that's exactly what they wanted. "Well, I suppose I could call Madam Bones over to see what she thinks of that."

The look of horror in their eyes was totally worth it. "No, it's okay, we were just kidding. See you in class, Professor."

As they ran away, Tonks sighed and turned to Hermione. "Just a word of advice. If you ever have to teach a class, don't tell the boys you'll go on a date with them, even as a joke. It's apparently the sort of thing they can't let go."

Hermione thought a moment. "Call the boys to your office. Morph into a middle aged man, and tell them you're finally comfortable being yourself, and hope they still accept you. Bonus points if you offer ambiguous candy, and weep into a monogrammed handkerchief."

Tonks smirked. "You know, it's probably a good thing you're so mature, otherwise you would be raising a whole lot more hell than I ever did."

* * *

As soon as Draco finished his last class, he returned to his room and closed the curtains around his bed. The writing materials and letter paper were already laid out. Dipping his quill, he began to write.

 _Dearest mother,_

 _I was very happy to receive your letter, and that you felt well enough to write. I hope your medicine continues to keep you in good health. I know Healer Blithe is confident he has the right formula this time, but you know healers always say that. Let me know right away if your health changes._

 _A few days ago, I started working on a project with some very powerful people. If everything goes according to plan, we should be able to find a cure for you. Not a medicine, Mother. A real cure._

 _This will keep me busy, so I won't be able to come home as often. However, tomorrow I plan to visit Hogwarts for the Triwizard tournament. I hope to meet you afterwards, and we can spend the afternoon together. I'll tell you all about my new employment then._

 _Love,_

 _Draco Malfoy_

He carefully folded the letter and gave it to his owl, then watched her wing her way south to Malfoy Manor. Draco waited up for a while, doing his homework, but he didn't receive a reply. He knew his mother retired early, so she'd probably not read the letter until morning.

With a last glance out the window, Draco sighed and got ready for bed.

* * *

Author's Note:

Heya! So, I've heard there was a little confusion about the character's ages, so I thought I'd clarify things. Harry is fifteen and in his 5th year at Hogwarts. Hermione is sixteen and also in her 5th year, but is taking some upper level classes.

Thank you to my betas, DarthRevanette and Arenavanera.

The next chapter will be posted on October 21st.


	17. The First Task

Chapter 17: The First Task

On a hill near Hogwarts, stood a giant wooden stadium surrounding a patch of bare earth. Harry Potter took his seat in the stands, rubbing his hands against the biting November wind. Neville sat beside him, waving a flag in support of Angelina Johnson. To his right stood Dean Thomas, who was holding Angelina's banner and chanting the Weasley's song with rest of Gryffindor.

At the sound of their cheering voices, Harry felt warm expectation bubbling inside him. For the first time ever, he was excited about a sporting event.

Of course, how could he not be? After learning about magic, one of the first questions he'd asked was, "Are dragons real?" He had been so disappointed when he heard there were none in England, and that no, McGonagall wouldn't pop into the Romanian mountains with him for a quick visit. But now Harry was getting to see wizards _fighting_ dragons, which had to be one of his top 5 childhood fantasies.

Harry glanced up at the champion's tent, feeling a pang of nervous disquiet. If there was one thing marring his enjoyment of this event, it was that the wizard champions were basically just kids. Harry had read that a full grown dragon could resist the simultaneous casting of six stunning spells at once, and that at least ten Aurors were required to reign in a dragon driven to madness by the pox. Even a baby dragon had fire breath that could melt steel, which begged the question as to why the stadium was constructed from wood. Harry didn't know about the other champions, but Angelina Johnson had been a nervous mess the last few days, or so he'd heard from Dean Thomas.

He couldn't blame her. It would be difficult for a whole class of seventh years to take a dragon down. Unless of course that class included Hermione Granger, in which case you would need only one student. She was currently standing outside the champion's tent, though whether to keep guard or to catch screaming champions before they leapt from the cliff, Harry couldn't guess.

Each school had their own seating assignment for the tournament. Directly across from them sat the students of Beauxbatons, a vast splash of bright blue among the motley assortment of brown and black robes. He noticed that the group looked much larger than usual, which meant that Beauxbatons and Durmstrang must have sent their younger students to watch the game. With sudden interest, Harry scanned the Durmstrang group, but he couldn't find who he was looking for.

From the champion tent, Harry saw Hermione looking at him. He turned to her, and though she was far away, it was clear she was giving him a thumbs down. Harry grinned, and unleashed his perfect comeback. Imitating the Beauxbatons entrance dance, he blew an exaggerated kiss in her direction. His grin widened when he saw her look suitably mortified.

After a few minutes, the chill wind bit into Harry's good mood, as no amount of _Thermos_ seemed to keep it at bay. It was quarter past the hour, and the game still hadn't started. Off to his right, Harry saw Fred, George and their brother Ron handing out Weasley brand scarves and gloves, while also surreptitiously writing numbers on a wooden board. Off to his other side, someone said, "Oy, now this is a proper Death Pool. I was wonderin' when they'd get around to it."

"Want one?" said Neville, handing Harry a pinstriped bag of what looked like bits of chicory. "I picked this up from Professor Sprout this morning."

Harry bit into a root, and instantly felt a rush of warmth spread through him.

"Attention everyone!" boomed the amplified voice of Mad Eye Moody. "If anyone is interested in making bets, ye ought to do it now before-"

"Ahem! Never mind that!" cried McGonagall, taking over the announcements. "It is now time for the game to commence. It is the ultimate test of bravery…"

As McGonagall gave her speech, Harry watched the crags of rocky earth beneath him, his heart leaping at each noise that sounded remotely like a growl.

A few minutes later, Angelina Johnson appeared to the rabid screaming of the crowd. She scanned her surroundings carefully, but no dragon lay between her and the path to the golden egg. After a few moments of hesitation, she ran for it, then scrambled for cover as fire leapt at her from the sky.

Harry jerked forward in his seat, listening to the energetic shouts of his classmates.

"Your wand!" cried Neville.

"The firebolt!" cried Dean Thomas.

Harry felt something _woosh_ over his head, then saw a broomstick cutting through the air and landing in Angelina's hand. She mounted, racing away from the dragon as all of Hogwarts cheered her on.

She flew across the pit, the dragon's fire following her. Her broom climbed higher and higher, and then…

Angelina soared right out of the stadium. With a screech of rage, the dragon snapped its metal chain and followed right after.

The entire stadium screamed and ducked as the dragon passed by, its tail swinging over them like a massive wrecking ball, ripping through the Weasley banner. Sweating from panic, Harry thought it was good idea the dragon hadn't decided on a parting shot, as the wooden stadium would burn like matchsticks against steel melting dragon fire.

 _Wait a minute, steel melting,_ thought Harry's brain, glancing at the broken metal chain. _Oh good grief, what crackpot wizard thought that was a good-_

But there wasn't time for proper indignation, because Angelina, for whatever reason, shot straight towards the school, the dragon's flames scorching the roof of Ravenclaw tower.

The entire stadium craned their necks to watch the chase. Several Aurors on broomsticks shot out of the stadium, Hermione's hair flying out behind one of them. As the chase continued, the broomsticks followed behind, not interfering in any way that Harry could see.

The Hogwarts champion flew towards the woods, the chaser a tiny speck against the massive bulk that followed. The dragon fired jets of flame, and Harry's hands gripped his knees as Angelina twisted and dodged, barely missing each strike. In the back of his mind, he kept wondering how he would face a dragon. He was good on a broom, but damn, she was _amazing_. "Dive into the lake!" Harry stood, waving his arms. "Dragons can't swim!"

As if she heard, the chaser headed towards the water, passing over a massive bridge which rose up over a giant cliff. The dragon breathed fire, and she dived into the pit, both of them slamming into the bridge on the way down.

The Aurors dove after them, and there were several seconds of intense, breathless silence. Then, the speck emerged, flew to the stadium, and collapsed into the middle of the dirt arena. Lifting herself to her feet, Angelina carried off the golden egg, to thunderous shouts and applause. Harry clapped hard, not even caring that she'd been disqualified for property damage, deciding that _this_ was something he would tell his hypothetical grandchildren.

McGonagall announced an intermission, and the students bought snacks while Harry waited, too excited to eat. Harry wasn't sure how the next person could top that, especially since he was fairly certain the Aurors would reinforce the metal chains this time. Still, his expectations were high. After a few minutes, the second champion walked into the arena, Marguerite Valentine.

At the sight of her, Harry raised his eyebrows. Marguerite sauntered in wearing a shimmering blue dress with heels that matched, without even a fur coat to ward off the chill. Harry shook his head, glancing around for the nearest Auror who would inevitably have to come rescue her. As the dragon lumbered towards her, she neither drew her wand nor tried to run away. Instead, Harry heard a sweet, high voice ring out:

" _One song,_

 _I have but one song_

 _One song_

 _Only for you."_

Of the people sitting next to Harry, only Dean Thomas seemed to share his look of complete confusion. Why anyone would think singing a Disney song would tame a dragon, Harry couldn't guess, but it only got weirder since it seemed to be working. The dragon slowly came to a halt and stood, its giant silver body swaying in time to the music. Then, it curled up around a rock crag and fell asleep.

With calm grace, Marguerite walked around the dragon, lifted the egg with one arm, and with the other gave a princess wave to the whispering crowd.

Once she was safely out of the ring, Harry nudged Neville's arm, "What just happened?"

"I don't know," said Neville. "Veelas are the cousins of mermaids, though, so maybe she used their voice trick."

"Umm…" said Harry. "Doesn't that count as an unfair advantage? A _superpower_ , you might say?"

"Who knows?" Neville said, shrugging. "I'm not letting you back in the duelling room, if that's what you're getting at."

Harry sighed, and waited expectantly for the next contender. Boris Krum had proven himself in the duelling room to be both extremely powerful and aggressive, so at least his fight wouldn't include singing.

As luck would have it, Boris Krum had drawn lots on the fiercest of the dragons, a Hungarian Horntail. Boris stormed onto the playing field, his eyes casting around for his opponent. Upon seeing him, the dragon screeched in rage and flew up into the air, straining against the chain on its neck. Before any of the Aurors could stop it, he snapped the chain (Harry facepalmed) and struck down, diving towards the Durmstrang champion.

Boris rolled just as the dragon spewed fire, the torrent of flames enveloping the ground he'd just stood on. As the dragon hit the ground, Boris whirled to face him, his feet planted wide as he caught the dragon in his stare.

In western movies, cowboys would face off in the middle of a dusty town, glaring at each other as their hands hovered over the draw. That was what Harry thought about as the dust settled and the two stood rigidly regarding each other, as if waiting to see who would blink first. Finally, as the tension built, the dragon lifted his head and roared, and Boris roared back.

In that same moment, Boris took a step towards the dragon, and then another. The dragon kept glaring at him, but he didn't move as Boris strode past him and towards the nest. The dragon made a keening noise as Boris took the golden egg, but Boris barked a word at him and the dragon was still. His prize in hand, Boris stalked out of the arena.

The stands exploded in noise as Harry stared at the dragon. One of nature's most effective killing machines was forlornly rubbing his snout against the empty nest.

"What," Harry said.

* * *

After dinner that evening, Harry trudged up to his room and got into bed, refusing to speak to anyone. It wasn't long before he turned the quieter all the way up.

Everyone in Hogwarts was talking about Durmstrang's amazing victory against the Hungarian Horntail, while Marguerite's win received only a passing mention. As it turned out, the strategy of using lullaby songs wasn't uncommon with dangerous creatures. So even though Marguerite scored the most points, she didn't impress the students. Staring down a dragon and telling it to "Shut up," however, was as about as common as stopping a runaway train with a rubber band.

No one could figure out how Boris Krum did it, and neither could Harry. And yet the students wouldn't stop pestering him.

"How do you think he did it, Harry?"

"Maybe he's a secret dragon master!"

"Or he's a master of elements! He's a fire bender!"

"Come on, Harry, tell us your theories."

Harry gave them half-hearted enigmatic answers that intimated he was keeping it a secret, and decided he would set his brain to the task and figure it out by morning.

That's what his brain did all night. Thinking.

And the more Harry thought about it, the angrier he got.

The truth was, this situation had been building for a while. Since their arrival, the Durmstrang students had been carefully cultivating the myth that they were total badasses. Harry didn't know how much was true or not, but that was beside the point. The important thing was to what extent others believed it.

Harry had ignored them at first, since it seemed that their mundane goal was to impress women. And yet, as time went on, Harry had noticed a disturbing trend. The strange habits of the students from Durmstrang had become regular conversation at the Ravenclaw table. If a Durmstrang male happened to be present, all students in the vicinity would hang onto his every monosyllabic grunt. Three days ago, one student claimed he'd seen a Durmstrang student tackle a dementor, which was complete nonsense, but not even the smart kids bothered to question him.

He wouldn't admit it to anyone, but Harry Potter knew that much of his influence came from appearing more powerful than he actually was. This was, in fact, the way all governments imposed authority. When it came to all things chaotic and insane, the Weasley twins were the princes and Harry was the king.

The Durmstrang students were eclipsing him, and he was not okay with that. Not at all.

The final straw came the next morning when Boris Krum sat down for breakfast at the Ravenclaw table. Half of Harry's housemates begged for a retelling of the match, while the rest looked on in heartfelt admiration.

Harry had his wand raised for a quieting charm when he caught Anthony Goldstein saying, "I'm not even sure Harry Potter could have done what you did, Mr. Krum. Not even if he snapped his fingers."

"Like this?" said Boris, and poised his fingers to snap.

The students gasped and backed away, and Boris snorted, casting a glance at Harry before he went back to eating.

Harry narrowed his eyes, feeling the hot blood raising his hackles. That was it. The final nail in the coffin. He'd been challenged, and it must be answered in blood. (Figuratively, of course. He was a good guy.)

Harry finished his meal in grim silence, and made his way to his lab. Upon entering, he saw that the Bayesian Conspiracy had taken over his classroom. Sheet metal was spread over the desks and propped against windows, and Dean, Seamus and Michael Corner were pouring over the 6th year charms book from his library.

"What are you doing?" asked Harry.

"Just working on the Gameboy project," answered Dean, not looking up. "We're building a Faraday Cage."

"Oh," said Harry. "Carry on, then."

Harry didn't have the heart to tell them that he had tried what they were attempting with a portable oven, and it hadn't worked. Still, even if they failed, he hoped they would learn something along the way.

Harry turned and walked back towards the Ravenclaw dorm. He wasn't about to stop the progress of science just so he could brood over his fiendish plots. His trunk was more than suitable for that.

By the time Harry came down to dinner that evening, he had the bare bones fleshed out, and all he needed to do was gather supplies and set pieces in motion. As he piled the food onto his plate (he'd skipped lunch), he found himself wishing that he had a professor or student he could trust to vet his ideas. Not that he wasn't confident it would work, but it was always good to have an extra set of eyes.

Hermione took her seat beside him, her face flushed and a bit nervous.

"Harry," she said. "Where were you all day?"

"Working on a problem," he said.

"What kind of problem? Can I help?"

Balancing a piece of carrot on his fork, he contemplated his answer. Hermione wouldn't be his first choice for this kind of work, but she'd grown up a lot since her first year. He remembered a few weeks back where she'd jokingly asked to get in on his plots, so maybe she wouldn't actually mind? He still wasn't sure she hadn't pulled that prank on him weeks ago.

To be honest, it would be…quite thrilling, if she participated in a plot with him.

"If you promise not to tell anyone, I'll fill you in on the details after dinner."

She frowned, hesitating a moment over the decision, then she shrugged, "Alright, Harry."

Later, in an empty classroom, Harry warded the place from spying and drew some notes from his pouch. "This plan is code named…umm…" He hadn't actually decided this yet. "Project Mattresses."

Well, that had sounded better in his head. Her brow furrowed, but she nodded, indicating that he continue.

Harry launched into the details of his plot. It took about twenty minutes, and once he was finished, Hermione sat on a table watching him with an impassive expression.

"So, your whole plan is to make it look like someone helped the Durmstrang team with a problem, and there's plausible deniability that it was you, but Durmstrang will know it was a sign of their…" She waved her hands, searching for the word. "Defeat?"

"Exactly," said Harry, nodding. "Of course, I'll have to cause the problem in the first place, and the tricky part is to make it look like something I can't influence, to everyone except Durmstrang. The solution also needs to be something that I can get my hands on, perhaps a potion from Slughorn."

"And…" Hermione crossed her ankles, swinging them a bit. "You're saying you planned all this because Boris…snorted at you?"

"Well," Harry folded his arms. "It was obvious what he was implying, Hermione. He might as well have been throwing down the gauntlet. And, anyway, it's not like this plan won't also be beneficial to Hogwarts, since it will reveal to everyone the truth about Durmstrang's _real_ capabilities. Besides, I don't want to hurt anyone, the point is to completely blow their minds."

Hermione smiled, in her 'Oh, you poor sweet thing,' sort of way, and said, "If you want my honest opinion, this sounds like a stupid plan that's going to blow up in your face, but go on ahead if you want to get expelled."

Harry sighed. He shouldn't have gotten his hopes up. "You just don't understand, Hermione. Even if this plan gets me in trouble, I can't back down on this."

"Why?"

The truth was, Harry didn't know how to explain this to Hermione. When a man received a challenge, he had to answer it, or else be branded a wuss for eternity, and everyone would pass by and laugh at him. On some level, he was aware of how irrational this sounded, and Hermione would _definitely_ say he was being an idiot if he tried to explain it to her. However, he suspected if he told Neville or Dean, they would immediately understand.

Besides, whenever Harry had considered the alternative—backing down and letting Boris walk all over him—he realized it wasn't just himself he was letting _himself_ get beaten, but the student population as well. Harry would be letting them believe something untrue about his abilities, which would cause them to follow Boris, which could lead them into danger and most likely complicate Harry's plans to save the world later. Ultimately, his reputation had to be preserved for the good of the school.

His lips twisted. Yeah, Hermione wouldn't go for that either, so…

"It's just the sort of thing I have to do, Hermione, for obvious reasons," he said, lamely.

"Well, if it's obvious, then wouldn't Boris know that too? What if he challenged you just so he could trap you?"

Harry considered this. "You're suggesting he might be a Level 2 player, expecting me to take the bait at Level 1? In that case, the Level 3 player would pretend to take the bait, but in reality have a plan in place-"

"A Level 3 player would just ignore the challenge entirely. The best way to win is by not playing the game."

Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair with an uncertain grimace. "Hold on, let me think."

Professor Quirrell wouldn't have told him to back down. Well, he might have if the plan hadn't been cunning enough to avoid detection, but he would have approved his reasoning nonetheless. His professor probably would have given him advice on how to crush his enemy.

Draco also would have understood, though he would have suggested befriending the enemy and using them to his advantage before destroying them.

Even the members of the Bayesian Conspiracy would have listened, bounced around a few mediocre theories before telling Harry he should just hex him into a ferret, then take a picture so they could see.

Hermione would be the only one to write his plan off entirely and tell him to drop the whole thing.

 _Well,_ said Ravenclaw. _We did say she was our conscience. Maybe we could try it her way for once?_

 _LA LA LA, I CAN'T HEAR YOU,_ said Gryffindor.

Even though all of Harry's component parts were cringing in disgust, Harry decided to try it. Her track record for interpersonal relations was better than his, and besides, he could always initiate a plot later if he changed his mind. "If you're wrong, he might escalate to bait me. What then?"

"Well…then let me handle it," said Hermione. "I'll go talk to him."

Harry stiffened, like someone had punched him in the gut.

"What?" she said.

"Don't take this the wrong way, Hermione," he said, "But I'd rather you stayed out of it."

"Is it because I'm a girl?" said Hermione, raising her eyebrows teasingly.

"Of course not," said Harry automatically, then realized maybe she had a point. If Harry went into this fight and lost, it was fine. But if he sent someone else in for him, _especially_ if it was a girl, then Harry would be branded a double wuss for eternity, and people would spit on him and kick him as he walked past.

 _Can we…have a discussion about how completely absurd your emotional realizations have been recently?_ asked his Ravenclaw side. _You're starting to make me nervous._

"I think in this case," said Hermione carefully. "If I address some…misunderstandings, he might back down."

Harry regarded her warily. "Misunderstandings?"

"I might be wrong," she said, hastily. "But I think he has hurt feelings. If my plan doesn't work, then do what you want."

He rubbed his forehead. How his brilliant scheme had devolved into talking about feelings, he didn't know. Even if he disagreed, it's not like he could tell her not to try it. "Alright! Fine. But just promise me you won't threaten him with violence unless absolutely necessary." He really did _not_ want it going around Hogwarts that he sent Hermione to fight his battles for him.

"Don't worry, no violence," she said, hopping off the table. "I'll let you know how it goes."

* * *

As soon as she left, Hermione went searching for Boris Krum.

She hadn't seen him in the library the past few days, which had made her hope that maybe he'd given up on her. Clearly, that didn't seem to be the case, as now he was targeting Harry.

Oh, boys and their rivalries. They didn't know how to handle their emotions except by fighting, that was the problem. She knew it was all her fault for not talking to Boris sooner, but she couldn't help the twinge of excitement she felt at being the cause of a love rivalry, even as she hated herself for it. Poor Boris, she really wasn't looking forward to doing this.

The first place she checked was the Durmstrang common room, but she was surprised to find there were a line of dressed up girls standing outside the door. She tried to squeeze past them, but the girls glared daggers and shoved her back. "No cutting! We were here first."

"Huh?" said Hermione. "What are you—"

The door opened, and several girls walked out, while a tall, bare-chested man ushered the next few girls in.

"Excuse me," said Hermione, stepping up to him. "I'm here to see Boris Krum."

The man looked her up and down, unimpressed by her uniform, then shrugged and let her in.

The place looked nothing like a normal common room. The rock hewn walls and red oak furniture were okay, but the leopard print furs and musky forest scent were way over the top. Around the Durmstrang "cave," the torch light flickered over small groups of girls who sat at stone tables, ogling the shirtless boys around them and…apparently eating snacks? There were plates of food around. One of the girls gasped and fainted when the guitar player blew her a kiss.

Hermione grimaced. Maybe Harry was right, and the Durmstrang boys did need to be taught a lesson in humility. They were making the Hogwarts girls act like complete idiots, for one thing. She wouldn't be surprised if the reason this room was so clean was because they licked the ground these boys walked on.

Okay…maybe that was a little harsh. She considered herself an intelligent, discerning girl, and even she felt her heart skip a beat at all the shirtless men lounging around on the furniture. One of them was even wearing glasses and reading a book, and Hermione had to keep reminding herself it was rude to stare.

Even if he didn't seem to mind, and threw a casual smile in her direction….

She shook her head. What _was_ it about this place?

One of the men near the door stood up from his fur lined oak chair and said, "Welcome, beautiful lady. Would you care for a beverage?"

He held out a goblet of steaming brown liquid in his hands, which she really hoped was coffee. "No thank you, I'm here to see Boris."

"Mr. Krum? He only accepts visitors by invitation now, and he is currently occupied."

"Oh," said Hermione, not sure how to reply to that.

Hermione heard two girls squealing from the other side of the room, curling into the Durmstrang boy sitting between them. The boy, a blond who eerily resembled a tan version of Draco, called out. "Hermione!" He untangled himself and came closer. "If you wait a moment, I can bring him down for you. I'm sure he can free himself within five minutes, if it's for you."

Hermione blushed, backpedalling out the door. "No, that's alright. I'll be in the library. Tell him to meet me there when he's finished."

Immediately after leaving, Hermione called Tonks. " _What_ is happening in the Durmstrang common room?"

"Ahh, I see you discovered their host club. Yeah, it's a bit much, but the coffee is pretty good."

Hermione rounded a corner. "I'm meeting Boris in the library. If it ends up being really weird, please make him leave."

She responded back. "Got it. On my way."

Hermione had promised not to use force, but Tonks hadn't. Though honestly, she just wanted Tonks there because she was freaking out. She couldn't even begin to imagine what Durmstrang boys thought was appropriate to do in empty libraries.

Entering the room, she saw it was just her and Madam Pince. Wonderful. She jumped at a tap on her shoulder, then realized it was just a disillusioned Tonks. Hermione let out a sigh of relief, and whispered, "Thank you."

"Anytime," the invisible person whispered back. "I'll be near the nonfiction books."

Hermione took a seat a few tables down and waited.

It wasn't long before the library door opened, and Boris entered, quietly shutting it behind him. Hermione was thankful he'd chosen to wear a shirt, even though it was white and see through. His hair was damp, and his feet were bare.

"Hermione," he said, with a warm smile. "I am so happy you called me."

She could hear the longing in his voice, and it made some primal part of her shudder. It wasn't that she wanted him, but that she liked being wanted. It also made her sad, because of what she had to do.

"Hello Boris," she said, swallowing. "Uhh…I wanted to talk with you. I hope I didn't interrupt…anything."

"It's fine. I was working on the second tournament task, but it can wait. What did you want to talk about?"

Working? He looked like he'd been showering. Well, anyway, she wouldn't know. The Triwizard tournament clues hadn't been part of her agenda. "I wanted to ask you about Harry. He told me you're trying to start a rivalry with him."

Boris snorted and folded his arms. "I want no rivalry. Only for him to know his place."

Hermione thought carefully. "Why are you upset with him? Has he done something to you?"

Boris's dark eyes gazed into hers, and then took one of her hands in his own. "Only stolen your time away from me. You can do better than him, Hermione. I am a strong man. I can be fierce, but I will be gentle with you. I cannot speak English well, but talk to me, and I will learn. Teach me all about you and your world."

 _Oh wow,_ thought Hermione. She glanced aside, but she knew he could see her blush. "I…umm…I'm sorry. I can't."

There was a long moment of dreadful silence. "Someone else has your heart. Is it Harry?"

"Oh, no, of course not!" exclaimed Hermione. "It isn't that, it's just…" She cast around for something, anything to say. "I don't really want a boyfriend right now. I've got so much going on with Auror training and studying for NEWTs and OWLs at the same time. It would be too much for me to have a boyfriend as well." That was actually true, though she knew deep down she would make an exception for the right boy.

"I can be patient," he said. "I won't need much time."

"No, it's not fair to you," she said. "And it's too stressful for me. I'm sorry, but…that's how it is."

"Yes. I understand," he said, his face crumpling as he lowered his eyes. She thought he'd be angry, or try harder to persuade her. She'd had a whole argument planned for just in case, but it had gone out the window when she saw how much he really seemed to care for her.

"But we can still be friends," she blurted out.

His eyes rose to meet hers, uncertainly. "Friends?"

"Yes. You can never have too many of those," she said, offering a smile.

"As your friend," he said. "Can I see you sometimes?"

"Ahh…" A part of her wanted to say no, but she responded. "I tutor on Saturdays. If you'd like to sign up to study English, I could add you to a study group."

He contemplated her a long moment, and then nodded, his voice smooth and deep. "I look forward to it."

"Great," she said, feeling herself blush for some reason. "Umm…Harry is my friend too. Do you think you could put your differences aside and get along?"

"Yes," he said, still with that voice. "If it pleases you, I will not be his rival."

"Thank you," Hermione responded, letting out a gasp when he bent down and kissed her hand.

"It is how we seal a promise in Bulgaria," he said. "At times, on the cheek as well."

She nodded, and cast a glance at where Tonks was supposed to be. "I need to go to the dorms now. My friend is expecting me. Goodnight, Boris."

He bowed at the waist. "Goodnight, Hermione."

* * *

The next day at lunch time, Harry grabbed a chair beside Hermione and said, "So Boris Krum just came up to me in the hall and shook my hand. He said that we were friends now." He narrowed his eyes. "How did you do it?"

Hermione raised her orange juice to her lips. "I straightened out the miscommunication."

"Yes, but how? Was it some kind of Auror mind trick?"

Hermione smiled. "No. Keep thinking."

Harry ran a hand through his hair. "Honestly, I did that, but the best solution I can come up with is that you kissed him or something."

Hermione choked on her juice, and grabbed a napkin to wipe off her chin.

"Don't worry, I know you didn't," he said. "But how about you tell me how you really did it, so I can stop imagining impossible scenarios."

Hermione decided this was the moment to use the trick. She turned to him and, smiling her most innocent smile, snapped her fingers.

"Really?" he said, his voice deadpan.

"If it makes you feel better, just imagine some Auror mind trick," she replied. "At least now you don't have to concoct any plots."

Harry sighed. "You say that like it's a good thing."

* * *

Draco burst through the doors of St. Mungo's, storming through the crowd of others waiting to be seen and approaching the front desk.

"Lord Malfoy, how can I—"

"Where is she?" Draco cut in.

The lady glanced to her side, at the attendant sitting next to her. "Your mother is stable. She's resting."

"I want to see her. Now."

The receptionist gave him overly complicated directions to her room that he was in no mood to hear, then tried repeating them when it looked like he didn't understand.

"Nevermind. Just take me there."

The woman frowned, then nodded and stood to walk him to the room. Draco knew that berating innocent receptionists wasn't acceptable behaviour for a Malfoy, but he was too upset to be nice. His mother was doing so well this week, and they'd even started making Christmas plans. Then this morning he'd been pulled from breakfast with the news she'd had another fit. It was a bad one, and they said she might not make it.

He'd missed the first task of the Triwizard tournament, and the leaders had expected him to attend. Planned for it, even. He was going to make damn sure to make the most of his absence.

Draco found his mother in her small, private room. She lay in bed, peaceful in sleep. The doctors had set her in a magically induced coma, as it seemed to help her recover faster. What Draco _wanted_ to know was why none of their other treatments seemed to be working.

He pulled a chair close to the bed and sat down. He took her hand in his, rubbing a bit of warmth into it. One of the books he'd read said that coma patients could sense when someone was close to them, and physical touch can help them respond better to treatments. Talking did too, but he thought if he said anything, he'd burst into tears.

Draco sat beside her a long time, leaning his head beside her arm, listening to her breathe. It was a soft sound, but it reminded him she was alive, and would come back to him. He closed his eyes. When he opened them again, the sky outside was dark, and he was famished. He sat up and immediately froze. There was someone else in the room.

She sat in a chair opposite his, studying him. Her hair was dark blonde and pin straight, and she was slim as a supermodel. He wouldn't have recognized her, but for the hungry, slightly manic look in her eyes. It was always there, it seemed. Something left over from her draining in Azkaban.

Draco suspected she was insane, but she was his superior, and there were formalities. He rose from his chair and bowed to her. "Hello, my Lady."

She inclined her head. "Greetings, Lord Malfoy. I am sorry to disturb you so late. How is your mother?"

"As well as can be expected. The doctors said they will lift the coma in the morning and see if she wakes."

The lady turned those hungry eyes onto his mother, and he felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. She wouldn't harm her, but he had to remind himself not to draw his wand.

"Do not worry about missing the tournament," said the lady. "The Priestess understands. She wishes your mother a quick recovery."

"Thank you," said Draco stiffly. "I appreciate it. But I'm sure you didn't come this late at night to tell me that."

The lady stood to her full height. She hadn't just changed her hair since her imprisonment—she was taller now, too. "The Priestess wanted me to inform you tonight, so you would have time to prepare yourself."

Draco frowned. "For what?"

The lady gestured to his mother. "We have an enchantment that must be cast. It will aid us in our plan. To do that, we need each of you to sacrifice one happy memory of each other."

Draco felt himself go cold. "She is not doing well. Can't it wait until—"

"It's because she is so ill that we must do it now. Your bond with her is critical to making the device. It will not harm her physically, but she will lose the memory forever, and you will only remember it if you are touching the enchanted item."

Draco was silent for several seconds, but inside his mind was raging.

 _It's not fair! Ask someone else with memories to spare. She's already lost so much time. To illness, to weakness, to the rampant whims of Dumbledore. All our memories are of_ missing _each other, how dare you take away the happy ones. Those are ours!_

Another part of Draco was worried that if he snatched even one memory, his mother would somehow forget about him entirely. There would be nothing good left to remember.

His hands balled into fists. No, he could not say any of that, not even to express his anger. He'd been told the risks, and he knew there would be sacrifices. He had said yes. And yet, while he had not lost his dedication, he realized he'd been doing this for his mother's sake. If she didn't make it through this, alive and well…

"Lord Malfoy?" asked the lady, waiting for an answer. Her tone was polite, but there was no sympathy in her voice, not a touch of concern for her sister and nephew. Perhaps that had been stolen by Azkaban too, along with all her happy memories.

"Can you at least promise me," said Draco, keeping his voice level. "That I may pick the one that is taken?"

"Why, of course." She offered him a bright smile. "You can even pick what time we start."

"The afternoon, then," said Draco.

She nodded, and readied her wand to Apparate. "I'll see you tomorrow, Draco."

It was the first time he walked with his mother in the garden. The summer before she'd gotten sick, when they were still grieving over father, they had spent all their time learning everything they could about each other. It was that morning he discovered how much she loved gardening. She named the flowers and trees that they passed, sharing her memories of watching them grow. Some of these memories included father, but she was so happy here that even those memories weren't painful. Laughing so hard she cried, his mother described how father had almost gotten his hand bitten off in the Venus fly trap. It was the first time Draco realized that everything would be okay someday.

He held the memory in the necklace in his hands. Then he passed it off to the lady, and it was gone, leaving only the vague sense that something important was missing.

"What will you do with it?" asked Draco.

"You'll see shortly," said the Lady, slipping the necklace around her neck. If she could feel the memory, she gave no sign of it. "You did well. I will speak with you again soon."

The lady Apparated away. Draco sat beside his mother, who still remained asleep. He stroked her hand, willing her to remember him when she woke up.


	18. Amygdala and Adrenaline

Chapter 18: Amygdala and Adrenaline

(Trigger warning: this scene has brief mentions of sexual violence.)

Mad Eye Moody leaned against the teacher's desk and folded his arms, grumbling, "Well, bright young students, I'm here because I lost a Triwizard tournament bet, and you're the lucky recipients of my first and only lesson in Defence Against the Dark Arts. However, unlike Auror Tonks, I'm not so foolhardy as to actually teach you anything today. So how about you ask me questions, and I'll answer them?"

Hermione, smiling, leaned her hand against her chin and traced patterns with her quill in her notebook. She knew that half the reason for this informal lecture was because he couldn't be bothered to prepare a lesson. Tonks did that more often than not, or rather, sat in her room until the wee hours of the morning scrambling something together.

The students didn't mind, though. Hands shot up all over the classroom, and Mad Eye called on an eager eyed Gryffindor. "How many people have you killed?"

Everyone in the room held their breath, as if waiting for an explosion, and then Mad Eye barked a laugh that made half the class jump. "Well, that didn't take long. I'll tell you what I tell everyone." He leaned forward with both hands against his staff, his eye swirling around the room. "I've lost track of the number of degenerate low-lifes I've rid the world of, but as for people…well, you'll have to be a bit older and get a few more drinks into me before I tell you that."

Moody called on another student. "Your eye is cool. Is there any way I can get one when I grow up and become an Auror?"

Mad Eye smirked as he shook his head. "I'm afraid there's only one, but there is something more powerful than my eye." He paused, and like a good storyteller, shifted his position while anticipation built. "Legends tell of a dark magical artefact that could see inside better than any Legilimens. It knows all thoughts, past and present, of the mind it invades. Eventually, its wearer is consumed by greed, and another master bears it with new ambition. Whole races were wiped out by this eye, before one noble soul cast it into the fire that forged it. Still," said Moody, as the students let out a disappointed breath. "That is no reason to let down your guard. What can be forged once by magic can be remade just as easily. CONSTANT VIGILANCE!"

Moody called on one student, who stood up shyly. "Why don't love potions—"

She squealed and ducked as a hex was fired in her direction.

"Oops, sorry," said Mad Eye. "Happens when someone mentions 'love potions.' Best not do it again."

Students' hands shot up and Mad Eye pointed to a Slytherin boy at the back. He stood, carefully folded his arms, and asked, "Why are the Unforgiveable Curses considered the worst of the dark arts?"

Mad Eye's eye paused briefly on the student, and then he grinned in way that reminded Hermione of a hungry shark. "Let me guess. You want to know why such convenient curses are considered evil, when they are far more useful in a real fight than most hexes?"

The student shrugged. "Well, yeah. A cutting spell can be just as deadly as the killing curse, but it takes longer and hurts more. So, why is one acceptable to use, and the other sends you to Azkaban?"

Mad Eye chuckled. "I asked myself the same question at your age. Turns out, the answer is complicated. Some would say it is because the Unforgivable curses are fuelled by hate, and it damages the soul. Well, I would argue that most murder, whether with a spell or a muggle weapon, can destroy you if you let it. However, there is a certain degree of…shall we say severity between the type of damage caused by one or the other." Moody paused to frown at his wand, tapping it against his hand, and then he continued. "I assume some of you have had sex before?"

No one moved, but everyone looked a little more uncomfortable. Hermione cringed; she knew where this was going. "Imagine then," said Moody, his voice detached. "That you had the choice between killing a person using a blasting spell and…raping them to death." A few students gasped, while the rest had tense looks on their faces. "Long story short, the Unforgivable curses defile you. There is something within your magic that can be twisted so wrongly that it turns you into more animal than human. Most wizards prefer death, and I can't say I blame them."

He braced himself against the cane and stood, pacing slowly, and with each step came a thud from the cane. "Another reason it is unforgivable is that the effects are permanent on the victim. A victim of the Imperius curse will suffer nightmares and be forever weak to control by their aggressor. A Cruciatus victim will go insane if the curse is cast continuously for more than a few minutes. And while you can staunch bleeding and start a stopped heart, there is no magic that can revive someone put down by the Killing Curse. No dark ritual or sacrifice can bring them back."

The room waited in silence as Mad Eye Moody stopped, turning to his captive audience. Then, he smiled grimly. "Well, this took a dark turn, and I've only been here five minutes. Tonks, I think I owe you a galleon."

From her seat beside Hermione, Tonks roused herself from frowning contemplation to give him a mischievous grin. "How about we wait and see how many more bets you lose first?"

"Right, well, then I'll ask a question," he said briskly. "Tell me about your favourite hexes. Did you cast them? What happened? Don't leave out the gory details."

Some students chuckled, and a couple raised their hands.

* * *

"I hope you will all take these lessons seriously," said the Headmistress, from the middle of the giant ballroom. "Because I will not have you embarrassing me in front of all the other schools. The Yule Ball dance is a great tradition of Hogwarts, and if you want to know why it was discontinued, you can ask Fred and George Weasley."

Harry stood in a line with all the other fifth year boys, staring uncertainly at the girls lined up on the opposite side. McGonagall was giving instructions, dragging a poor Gryffindor over to demonstrate the movements. It would have been better, Harry thought, to choose Justin Finch-Fletchley, since he was the only one who'd actually studied dance before.

The practice went about as awkwardly as Harry had expected. He stepped on his partner's foot, had trouble with eye contact, and generally disliked having random people wrap their arms around him while he was sweating.

Some part of him wished Hermione was there to practice with, but the rest of him was glad she wasn't. With everyone else, Harry could pretend this didn't happen. With Hermione, however, every mistake would be catalogued in his brain. It would hang over his head forever that she was better than him at yet another thing.

They received a ten minute break while McGonagall followed a student, who for some reason ran sobbing from the room.

"Seriously, why do we have to do this?" muttered Harry, to no one in particular. "It's not essential to the curriculum at all. There should be some option for backing out."

"Right?" said Ron, sitting beside him. "It's total bollocks."

Ron was flushed red and breathing heavily, wiping his palms on his dance robes. "It's cruel to those of us with two left feet."

Harry nodded, for once in complete agreement with Ron. "See, you get it. The Yule Ball is just an elaborate ploy to get us to interact with the visiting schools, as if we weren't doing enough of that already. It's worse than this school's obsession with Quidditch, since at least we aren't _required_ to play the games if we don't want to. No offense, Ron."

"It's fine," said Ron, shrugging. "At least you understand. Most of my friends already got girlfriends, but it's a nightmare for us blokes who don't."

"Well see…technically, you're not desperate to find a date, but to avoid a drop in social status," said Harry, applying a cleaning charm to his robes. "The Yule Ball is designed to be a popularity contest—who's dating the prettiest girl, who's wearing the best dress, etc. At the bare minimum, the requirement is to find a companion to attend with you, and if you can't then you're at the lowest rung of the social ladder. That's why some people go to dances with their relatives—a cousin, for example—than risk not going."

Ron snorted. "I'd rather die than go with my sister."

"Not saying you should. The popularity contest is the reason I'm boycotting it, even though I'm sure I could find a date if I wanted one."

Ron looked confused. "You could?"

"Well, yeah. I'm the Boy-Who-Lived, so I could easily use that as leverage, but I'm also a conscientious objector to forced social conscription." Harry shrugged, fiddling with a loose string on his robes. "Plus, it would be annoying to go with someone who doesn't even like me, just because I'm a celebrity."

Someone on Harry's other side chuckled. "Still think girls are icky, huh Potter?"

Harry turned around. It was Blaise, of course. "I never said that."

But that was the wrong thing to say to Blaise, who grinned widely. "But you won't deny it, will you? That's as good as an admission on your part. It's either that or you're a poofter."

Harry ground his teeth, refusing to rise to the bait. _If you ignore him, he'll go away…_

" _Are_ you a poofter, Harry?" asked Ron.

Aww, crap. He'd forgotten about Ron. "Not your business," said Harry, pitching his voice low, hoping his dark lord aura would shut them up.

"Ohh, better watch out," Blaise said to Ron. "Or he might _snap his fingers_."

They were saved from Harry's wrath when the class resumed, and Harry was paired with a blonde girl from Slytherin. Eyes wide, she trembled as he put his arms around her waist, and he realized she was scared…of him. "Don't worry," Harry said, feeling kinda bad. "I'm not mad at you."

She smiled weakly. "I thought you didn't want me as a partner. I'm really bad at dancing."

"Oh, don't worry, I am too." He attempted a smile. "Let's just get this over with, hopefully without injuries."

The music started, as they danced, she managed be even more clumsy than he was. Harry was patient, even when she stepped on his feet, guiding her as much as he could. When the dance was over, she thanked him with a grateful smile, and Harry gave her a bow. When Harry returned to his side of the room, he was surprised to find himself reconsidering his boycotting decision.

Not that Harry wanted to dance at the Yule Ball, of course. And he certainly wasn't going because he had to prove a _point_ to certain idiots who would not be named.

But…he had to admit, it would be sorta nice if a girl came up to him, blushing and smiling, and asked him to the dance. Even if he ended up turning her down.

On second thought, that was cruel. If a girl asked him, he would probably agree, just to be nice. In fact, attending the ball might be a useful, low stakes chance to practice social skills. Maybe that was the _real_ point of the Yule Ball. After all, the professors couldn't possibly think that every person going to the Yule Ball was going to get married, so it had to be practice dating.

By the time class was over, Harry was starting to think it might be fun to ask a girl out, just to see what would happen.

So Harry went to his lab, sat down at his desk, and brainstormed a list of potential partners, ranking them based on a variety of factors. The most obvious choice was…

He paused, his quill hovering over Hermione's name before scratching it out. He didn't know why, but it felt weird to do this experiment with her. They were supposed to be rivals, anyway, and it didn't count if they went together.

Harry finished his list of names, then spent another hour writing potential dialogues for asking the girl out, making sure he had a contingency for all of the likely responses. He didn't want to be caught unawares, saying something stupid out of nervousness. And then, after a final check of his hair and robes, Harry and his papers went to lunch.

As Harry picked at his food, he peered at the girls over his notes, trying to decide who to ask first.

 _What's so hard about it?_ said his Slytherin side. _Just pick the first girl you see, walk over there, and get it over with._

 _But they all sit in groups,_ complained Hufflepuff. _We can't do this with an audience, that's a high level skill._

 _Ahh yes, like hunting wild animals, you need to capture one alon_ e _, when they're away from the pack_ , said Gryffindor.

There was internal silence as Harry's brain mulled over that analogy, unnerved by the fact that it made sense.

After lunch, Harry's eyes followed the girls out, but they all stuck with their friends. So Harry waited a few seconds and then followed them out, lagging behind in case someone detached from the group.

 _And so the hunt begins,_ said Gryffindor.

 _We're experimenting, not hunting,_ objected Ravenclaw. _We're isolating a test subject._

 _In that case, why don't we wait outside the girls' bathroom, catch someone alone?_ said his Slytherin side. _I'm sure that will be way less creepy._

Harry persisted with his plan, though it felt more and more awkward as time went on. His feet seemed to move without him, as his brain looked on and shook its head at everything Harry was doing. He was just about to give up when a dark haired girl stopped to tie her shoe.

It was Cho Chang, one of the girls at the top of his list. He dawdled by the window—he didn't want to bother her while she was busy—but when she stood up, she noticed him. "Hi, Harry. What's up?"

Harry had prepared a line for this specific question, something simple and easy to remember. Cho smiled at him, her eyes bright as she brushed a stray hair behind her ear.

He suddenly realized she was really pretty, a lot prettier than he remembered, which caused his brain to lurch in confusion.

"Ummm…" said Harry, swallowing against the dryness in his mouth.

 _Wait a second,_ said his brain. _Girls are socially selected to get to be the 'more choosy' partner, and this girl is really pretty so her 'social status' is probably higher than mine. Plus we're in the same house, and I haven't talked to her in...what, two weeks? There's got to be way more viable candidates on her list, I'm probably not even in the top ten, and if she rejects you then I don't even want to think about what happens, probably pits with spikes open up in the floor, or maybe even worse-_

Cho was looking at him with a perplexed expression.

 _...oh crap words aren't coming out of your mouth and you've been standing here for at least 10 seconds. Quick, do something not stupid! Remember the plan!_

"Ahhh…" said Harry, waving. "Hiii."

To his horror, her response was to frown, as if she was displeased with his greeting. She opened her mouth to say something.

 _RETREAT!_

His face burning, Harry fled down the hall and ran to the nearest bathroom, hiding in one of the empty stalls. He sat there for a long time, waiting until he stopped freaking out.

 _I give it a 4 out of 10,_ said his Ravenclaw side. _At least we didn't word vomit or real vomit._

 _Yeah, cheer up,_ said his Slytherin side. _Who knows, you might meet someone here you can stutter at._

* * *

 _30 minutes later…_

Harry was exiting the boy's bathroom when, completely by surprise, he saw Luna Lovegood walking by. She stopped, examining one of the corridors.

After a few seconds, Harry straightened his robes, smoothed back his hair.

 _You…are aware I was kidding before, right?_ said his Slytherin side.

 _Yes, but she's third on the list,_ said Ravenclaw. _We stick with the plan._

 _Plus, we're totally calmed down now,_ said Hufflepuff. _Nothing can phase us._

Harry approached Luna, hand raised in greeting. "Hi—"

Luna walked right past Harry, as if he wasn't there.

"Seen any Snortblats?" she asked, peering around the corner. "I'm sure I heard one of them."

"Not that I recall," said Harry.

"Oh, darn," she said. "I've been searching all day. Even bought a trap for one too."

Harry realized his palms were sweating, and he felt a little sick, but he was going ahead anyway.

"Luna," said Harry, rubbing the back of his head. "I was wondering…umm…"

"Funny thing about Snortblats, is they steal things," said Luna. "Or break them, if they can't steal it. You have to watch out, or your things will be next."

Luna walked off, leaving Harry frowning behind her.

* * *

At dinner that evening, a dark cloud hung over Harry's head as he walked into the Great Hall.

That afternoon, he'd gone to the library and looked up Snortblats only to find they didn't exist. When he asked the librarian for advice, she'd berated him for using foul language. Because apparently Snortblats were some old-timey Wizarding slang for a "playboy."

Desperate, he'd gone to the Weasley twins for advice. He didn't know what he was doing so wrong. He told them about his social experiment, and their response was to shove a love potion in his face. "Now even _people like you_ can get a girlfriend, Harry!"

Annoyed, Harry would have gotten a date just to spite them, but he needed some time to think first.

Harry plunked down at the Ravenclaw table, in the closest seat to Hermione. "So, Hermione," he said. "I've a hypothetical question I'd like to pose to you…"

A dozen white roses appeared between them, held by some Slytherin Harry didn't know.

"Miss Hermione Granger," he said. "Will you please go to the Yule Ball with me?"

She glanced down at the roses, biting her lip. "Thanks, but I'll, uhh…I'll have to say no. I'm sorry."

The boy left, and she turned back to Harry. "What were you saying?"

"Umm…" said Harry. "Right, the hypothetical question—"

As if on cue, another boy appeared, holding a box of chocolates. Hermione turned him down too. "Harry, I'm really sorry." She gave a frustrated sigh. "This has been happening all day."

A girl nudged Hermione's arm. "Jeez, are you blind?" she half-whispered. "That last boy was really cute! Why didn't you take him?"

Hermione shrugged. "I'm...considering my options."

Harry didn't speak for the rest of dinner. Afterwards, Harry found an empty hallway and took out his list. With a flash of magic, he set it aflame.

 _Well…it was a stupid plan, anyway._

He'd suspected for a long time that he wasn't skilled in the romance department, but he'd assumed it was because he didn't care, not because he wasn't able. It came with the unfamiliar feeling of being completely stupid.

It was like his brain capacity was 99% devoted to theorizing and problem solving, and the other 1% dedicated to system maintenance (eating, sleeping, and not walking into doors while contemplating).

Up to now, that had worked just fine for him. Achieving interstellar space travel and discovering immortality did not require a level 10 in charm skills. Yet, even if it wasn't a necessity for his life, the revelation that he was defective in this way was disconcerting. He didn't want girls to fawn over him, but it would be nice if he could somehow avoid annoying them, and maybe make a girl smile on occasion.

That evening, as he wandered the halls of Hogwarts, which he was accustomed to do when he was thinking, Harry found a door he didn't recognize. After a few customary trap detection spells, he walked inside. Five hours later, he walked back out, and said to himself, "Huh, looks like it's time for bed."

Then he left, and thought no more about what was inside the room.

* * *

When Hermione had originally heard about the Yule Ball, she had the vague idea that it might be nice to go. The partner didn't really matter, as long as she got to dance and have a good time. She would go with Neville, maybe, or Michael Corner.

Then the Weasley twins had found her around dinner time and said that Harry had asked them for advice about getting a date for the Yule Ball, and immediately Hermione Granger's brain was doing Damage Control.

She'd never imagined Harry Potter would want to go to the dance. When Ron had once asked him what kind of music he liked, Harry had replied with some indignation, "You can't read with music blasting in your ears." But maybe he'd changed his mind since then, as he sometimes played music while he worked. If he was going, of course, it was only natural he would ask his closest female friend. And Hermione would accept, since it would be cruel not to. Even though it would probably be annoying to dance with him if he stepped on her feet…or maybe a little bit cute. It would make him flustered and nervous, and she would offer to lead the dance and teach him slowly.

And suddenly she became anxiously preoccupied about how she would do her hair, if he did ask her to go, and what kind of dress she would wear. Or if he would even ask her to go in the first place. If he DID ask, what would she say? After a few practice conversations in her brain, she determined the best response would be something casual like, "Sure, Harry, sounds like fun." Definitely not, "Wow, I thought you'd never ask!"

The next morning, the bright form of Harry's Patronus woke her from sleep. He was bent over her bed, tapping her on the shoulder.

"What is it?" she asked, hastily covering herself, and then remembering that it was like a telephone, and would only relay her voice.

"Harry says: What's taking so long? Wake up already."

"Excuse me," she said groggily. "Tell him that whatever he wants, it's the weekend, and I'll get up when I'm good and ready."

It was only after the Patronus left that she realized the butterflies in her stomach were the familiar call to adventure.

* * *

The quest was Ravenclaw and Gryffindor.

Their mission was to dodge falling rocks while searching for riddles. Solving a riddle would open switches that allowed them to change the path of the rocks, so they could descend deeper into the dungeon.

"You know," said Hermione, on level 9. "This morning McCormac asked me to the Yule Ball." When Harry didn't say anything, she continued, "I told him no."

"Yeah, he would have made a terrible partner," said Harry. "He keeps making the same lewd jokes about the Defence Professor."

"Well…" she said, then grabbed his hand to drag him away from an oncoming boulder. Once it passed, she continued. "Anyway, I wouldn't have gone regardless. I'm waiting for the right person to ask me."

"Hermione, do you see that over there?" asked Harry, pointing to a dim light. "I think that's the entrance to the Terrible Evil Monster's lair."

The Terrible Evil Monster, as it turned out, was a twelve foot tall lemur who stroked his stomach while he crooned out his riddles. He tried to choke them with his tail when they took too long to answer.

Fortunately, Harry and Hermione had plenty of practice from the Ravenclaw doorway, and also from regularly thinking too much.

Once he was defeated, he went off to sulk, and they ran to the prize room.

"Oh goodness," said Hermione, clutching a hand to her chest. "I think I'm going to have nightmares about his eyes."

"Me too," said Harry, shuddering. "He's my new definition for the word "creepy.""

"Where did he even come from? Certainly not from my imagination," said Hermione, stuffing her pouch with their quest prize. "I wish we could have attacked him. He looked like he needed a punch in the face."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Really?"

"Yeah," said Hermione, stuffing the last of the prize into her pouch. "I mean, I wouldn't do it if he was a real person, but sometimes I just get this urge to…punch things, you know?" She blushed. "Anyway, it's kind of weird."

The door to the Hogwarts grounds opened, and they walked outside. "Well, if you feel that way," Harry said. "We could…"

They crested the hill, and saw that Hogwarts was on fire.

 _We leave for 5 minutes,_ thought Harry, but Hermione had already raced ahead. The students, lead by their prefects, poured out the doors of the Great Hall, choking and clutching each other in fear.

If Harry were allowed to fly, he could have caught up with Hermione easily, but he settled on running instead. He really needed to buy the students some Superman comics, show them that the good guys fly, too.

He could see Hermione casting a spell that looked like _Aguamanti_ , but sprayed out water with the pressure of a firehose. Other Aurors and professors were also casting spells to douse the flames. Flitwick cast something that looked like fluffy crème, which reminded Harry of fire extinguishers.

Once Harry was within range, he pulled out his Accio gun from his pouch, and aimed it at the Hogwarts lake. He set the direction he wanted the water to go, and shot a geyser straight at a Hogwarts tower.

Some students near the lake shrieked and ran away, one of them falling face first into the mud. _Whoops. Well, they'll live,_ thought Harry.

"Harry Potter!" cried McGonagall, lifting her skirts and racing towards him.

Out of respect, he walked towards her, but didn't stop using the gun. She _couldn't_ be mad at him for trying to help. She _had_ to have more important things to do than worry about whether or not he was disturbing the biome of a partially sentient aquatic life form or something.

"It's an infestation of Ashwinders," said McGonagall, breathing heavily as she stopped before him. "There are too many of them to kill, and by the time we do get them all, the damage could be irreparable. However, I believe you can help us."

"How?" asked Harry, and then he realized. "Ashwinders are snakes."

"Yes," said McGonagall, and now Flitwick was approaching them too. "And you're a Parselmouth."

There was silence for a moment.

"Tell me what you need me to do," said Harry.

Harry stood within the doorway of the main gate, where even close to the fresh air the smoke was heavy. He held his wand in the voice amplification spell, which his classmates had been charmed not to hear.

" _Come here, snakess_ ," he said. " _Bring your eggss_."

Professor Sprout said she wasn't sure the snakes were dexterous enough to carry their nests on their backs, but Hagrid had insisted. Harry thought it wouldn't hurt to ask.

After a few moments, an Ashwinder slithered towards him. " _Ssafe_?" he asked.

" _Not ssafe insside_ ," said Harry. " _Come out._ "

" _Not safe outside,_ " asserted the snake. " _Death comess._ "

Harry turned to the Headmistress, showing a pained look. "I can't lie in Parseltongue. I think they know we're planning to kill them."

She sighed heavily, and then Hagrid spoke up. "I'll take 'em. Keep them safe until they die naturally. T'will be no more than an hour."

Harry turned back. " _Ssafe outsside. We will protect you._ "

Several more Ashwinders had arrived, some carrying their nests. " _Ssafe?_ "

"Yess," repeated Harry.

" _Not ssafe,_ " said the first snake again. " _Darknesss comess for uss. Keep children ssafe insside._ "

Seeing as the plan had failed, Harry was about to default on Plan B, which was take out as many congregated snakes as possible, when a second snake spoke. " _Not ssafe insside or outssside. Nowhere ssafe from Darknesss. The big man iss kind to ssnakess. We will go._ "

Several snakes slithered forwards and past Harry's feet to Hagrid, who lovingly set them and their eggs within glass containers. Harry hopped aside as more snakes slid out of the castle, their eggs so hot that he could feel the burn from a meter away.

As he rejoined the nearby group of professors and Aurors, he noticed Hermione hovering near the doorway, looking like a scared puppy. Harry took a step towards her, but then Auror Tonks was at her side, patting her shoulder and whispering advice. Harry knew he wasn't needed right then, and so he turned to McGonagall. "What else can I do?"

"When the building is clear of Ashwinders and all their flames, then we'll lead the students back inside to the Great Hall. You'll go with Ravenclaw."

After a moment of silence, Harry asked, "Do you know why the Ashwinders are here?"

"That is what we are trying to determine." She looked at him sidelong. "What did the Ashwinders say to you?"

"They said something about Darkness coming for them, and that they wouldn't be safe anywhere." Harry frowned. "It could be referring to their rapidly approaching deaths, but I feel as though there must be some deeper, darker reason that you won't tell me."

McGonagall quirked an eyebrow. "Harry, we're all in trouble if even the snakes are spewing prophesies."

She walked away to confer with Hagrid, and Harry glanced at the line of Ashwinders before going back to emptying the Hogwarts lake.

* * *

Hermione Granger went to dinner that evening exhausted and in a terrible mood.

The fire had been all her fault. It was her job to protect the area against Ashwinder eggs, and she had failed. As the Headmistress had informed her, the Ashwinders had sprung from the fire inside Angelica's dying dragon, as well as from the flames she spread on the Hogwarts castle in their flight. The Headmistress had tried to persuade her that these things happen, and that it was just as much the fault of the dragon handlers who took so long to collect the body. The investigators had found more Ashwinders in the dragon's ravine, and they explained that some must have migrated to Hogwarts due to its well of magic.

Madam Bones had been in the meeting, too. She hadn't said a word to Hermione, but her cold look said everything. _I'm disappointed in you. You could have done a better job if you'd tried. Maybe it was a mistake to put you in this program._

Sitting beside Hermione, Harry watched as she pushed the food around on her plate. "Are you alright?"

"Fine," she said.

"Want to talk about it?"

"Not now," said Hermione, casting a glance at her classmates. "Later."

Hermione felt her hand tremble as she moved her fork to her mouth, her heart still beating too fast.

"By any chance," asked Harry, looking at Hermione's hand. "Do you still want to punch something?"

Hermione considered this. "Maybe a little."

Harry excused himself and went to the Hufflepuff table. Hermione ate her soup and tried to focus on what Tonks had told her. _We all make mistakes, but the important thing is that we learn from them. That's how you grow._

When Harry came back, he looked extremely nervous.

"Hermione, there's something I want to ask you," he said. "Well, actually it's sort of like a mutually beneficial proposition. It might brighten your mood."

It took Hermione's adrenaline addled brain a few seconds to realize that he was about to ask her the Question.

 _What? Now? My hair is probably a mess, and what if I have food in my teeth?_ She quickly set down her fork and asked, "Yes, Harry?"

Then, as if thinking better of it, he said, "Not here. I'll tell you after dinner."

* * *

…" _Ahh yes" Edward sighed, "Now that's what I call equivalent exchange."_

Daphne handed the paper back to Lavender, giggling wildly. Actually, none of the three girls had stopped giggling for the past five minutes. Whenever one would stop, another would start, and then they were all giggling again.

"I didn't know you could write so well, Lavender," said Daphne, swatting her hand playfully.

"Neither did I," Lavender replied with a smirk, tossing back her newly dyed pink hair. "But I've always wanted to, and I'm trying out all sorts of new things now."

Something had been different about Lavender ever since she'd screamed and fainted in the Beauxbatons common room. She'd spent a day in the infirmary, Parvati never leaving her side. Then, the next week in Potions, she'd walked into class with shortened skirts and hair dyed pink. Now, she was writing some very interesting fiction.

"It's really good," said Parvati. "Maybe I'll write one for Light and L. They were always my favorite."

"Oh, well, my favorite is Fred and George, but it would be kind of weird to write about real people," said Lavender.

"Ummm…." said Daphne. "They're twins."

"Exactly," said Lavender, with a wicked grin.

Parvati snickered. "Don't tell Ginny about that, she'd kill you."

Daphne was starting to worry a little about this new and improved Lavender. She was about to change the subject to something less scandalous, when Susan Bones bounded through the door, practically bursting with exciting news. "Oh my god, you won't believe what I just heard!"

"What?" asked the girls, making room for her on the couch.

"I was walking down the hall coming from charms, and I heard Harry and Hermione having a big row in the middle of the hallway! And you'll never guess why!"

When Susan explained the reason, they all gasped.

"No way!" they cried.

"It's true!" declared Susan. "He was saying things like, "Why don't we just try one time? Only for like 10 minutes, and then I promise we can stop. Neville even said it was okay!"

Daphne frowned. She didn't like the implication that Harry and Neville had a thing, because they most certainly didn't, or if they did she was going to go to bed and have a good cry.

"And then," said Susan, breathless with excitement. "When Hermione still said no, he said, 'But you have to consider the effect of endorphins! Just ten minutes will help you release some stress, which will make you better at your job, which is what you're worked up about, right?"

The girls gasped. "He didn't!"

Susan nodded, head bobbing up and down. "Oh, he did, and Hermione went beet red she got so mad! Then she said, 'Release stress, Harry? I can't think of _anything_ more annoying than doing it with you!'"

That was the last straw, and suddenly everyone was talking at once.

Ginny and Romilda came into the room, with Ron trailing behind and nagging Ginny about something. Susan had to repeat the entire conversation again, but Daphne didn't think she minded.

Romilda snorted. "The Virgin of Hogwarts trying to tempt the Unicorn Princess? No way. They were probably talking about Arithmancy homework or something."

"But they have been spending a lot of time together," pointed out Susan. "And disappearing for hours just to reappear in some random part of the castle."

"Whatever it is, it's not what it looks like," declared Romilda, as if that were the last word on the subject. "No one is secretly snogging and I don't know about it."

Daphne noticed that Lavender had checked out of the conversation, and was staring quite intently at Ron.

"Well," Lavender said softly. "Duly noted, Romilda. Oy Ron, come here."

Warily, he approached. "Uhh…what do you want?"

She leapt off the couch and kissed him. Well, more like snogged him within an inch of his sanity. All the girls gaped at her, while Ginny had a look of complete disgust on her face.

When Lavender finally broke away, Ron was staring at her without blinking or moving at all.

"Bloody hell," he whispered.

"I've always wanted to do that," she said. "So, want to go to the Yule Ball with me?"

He nodded, and she smoothed back his mussed up hair. "Good. Now, come along, I think we need to improve your kissing skills. There should be an empty classroom somewhere."

As soon as they left, Romilda said, "I knew that was going to happen."

* * *

Author's Note:

Hey everyone! It took me a while to finish editing this chapter, and I'm still not sure I'm satisfied with it. Feedback is welcome. :)


	19. A Game of Chess

Chapter 19: A Game of Chess

After a day of work, Harry was relaxing with a fun game of chess in the Ravenclaw common room.

Well, fun for him anyway.

Hermione sat across from him, glaring at the board as if that would change the fact she was losing. She moved her hand to a rook, and Harry coughed. Giving him an uncertain look, she moved to a knight, and he sucked in a breath. On his turn, he took her bishop.

She glared at him. "Why are you doing this? You're evil."

"Me, evil? Why, I didn't even touch your queen five turns ago when you left it wide open."

She blushed and mumbled. "Just end the game if I'm playing that badly."

But on the next turn, even though he could have gone for checkmate, he just took another pawn.

He'd heard that orcas play with their food before eating it, and he could understand why. It was fun to see her grit her teeth when she'd been crushing him all these years.

Five turns later, after Harry chased her king around the board, he finally declared checkmate.

"Evil," Hermione whispered, narrowing her eyes.

He leaned back in his chair as the board reset, hands resting across his lap. "When it suits me. Though, I find it hard to believe you're going to blame your loss on my evil nature and run off to pout. As the saying goes, don't get mad, get even."

"You're suggesting that I play another game and lose?" she scoffed.

"Well…there is another way you can get me back," said Harry, pointedly touching the handle of his wand.

She let out a small sigh. "I'm not going to duel with you, Harry."

He couldn't help deflating a little, but he pressed on. "So you're going to let me get away with insulting your intelligence? I'm surprised, Hermione."

She raised her eyebrows teasingly. "I have no assurances you won't be just as annoying in a duel as you're being right now."

"Oh no, I promise. It will be very enjoyable for both of us. You'll be able to fight with someone on your level, and I finally won't have to hold back. Won't it be great to tackle someone who can take it?"

She was quiet for a moment, and he worried he'd gone too far until she said. "Let me get this straight. You want me to use all of my strength to…crush you against a wall or something?"

"You can try," he said, smirking. "Although, who knows, maybe I'll find your secret weakness and crush you instead?"

A blush creeped up her neck. "My…weakness?"

"What will it be, I wonder?" He tapped his chin thoughtfully. "I suppose I'll need to experiment to find out. Might have to fight you a few times in that case."

"Well…umm…" said Hermione, running her hands through her hair. She pulled out her wand. " _Quietus_."

The sounds of student conversation around them muffled.

"Okay, look," she said, her eyes trained on the board in front of them. "I was going to bring this up in a more sensitive way, but I don't think I can wait any more. Just so you know, this will be awkward."

"Thanks for the warning," he said, already feeling the dread settling in. "What is it?"

She took in a deep breath and then let it out. "I heard something about you that's been confusing me. You and Neville are close friends. Are you…close in a special way?"

"Uhh…" said Harry. "I'm not sure what you mean."

She looked as tense as a bowstring stretched thin. "Are you dating?"

A few moments later, Harry forcefully closed his mouth.

"Wha…how…why?"

"Well?" asked Hermione helplessly. "Yes or no?"

"No, we're not dating," he said, hating the blush rising in his cheeks. "We're just friends, in the most platonic way possible. Why would you even think that?"

The worst of the tension faded from her shoulders. "Well, I just heard it from some first years."

"Oh, right. Because they're _always_ a reliable source of information," he deadpanned.

She shrugged. "They made a good argument. Sorry about having to ask."

Harry glanced around the room, just to be sure, and no one was staring at them in shock or whispering to their friends. Harry breathed a little easier and said, "Is that all you had to ask me?"

Hermione shifted in her chair. "Just to be clear, then, you are attracted to women?"

He sighed. "Yes. To a certain extent."

"To a certain extent?" repeated Hermione.

"Yes. Of the two genders, biologically I am…inclined towards women. However, I am not like those boys in Ravenclaw that fawn over every girl with the slightest amount of charm or beauty, regardless of her other qualities."

Hermione smiled at that. "I'd say that's a good trait."

Harry nodded. "I agree. It's fortunate I have this amount of self-control, as I have decided not to date at all to pursue other interests."

She went very still. "What?"

"I've got the enormous task of rediscovering the secret to immortality. That isn't just a job, it's a vocation. If I waste time pursuing romance, I may become distracted and miss my opportunity. Besides, with relationships there comes drama, marriage and children. If I'm going to be in the lab all day, I can't also be home for dinner at six or make football practice."

Hermione didn't say anything, so Harry just kept talking, "Besides, if I do discover immortality, I'll have all the time in the world to explore relationships, if I'm still inclined to do so. The way I see it, it would be very sad if I never discovered immortality, even if I tried my best. However, it is unconscionable for me to miss out on the chance because I was being selfish. That would be like giving the entire human race a death sentence so I could play around for a few years."

"I see," said Hermione. "But…after you become immortal, won't you be old?"

"Well, I'm sure that restoring youth can't be any more difficult than defeating death, so given enough time I'll find a way to do that too. At any rate, I'm hoping to rediscover immortality before that becomes a problem."

Hermione nodded and took in a shaking breath, her eyes fixed on the table, her knuckles white. Suddenly, in a jolt of panic, Harry realized that he'd been in this situation with her before, and that maybe she was about to run out of the room in tears.

He started fidgeting, regret hitting him in waves. Now that he thought about it, his persistence in dueling might have seemed flirtatious. He hadn't meant it that way, and he certainly didn't want to give her the wrong impression. He was steeling himself for tears or yelling, but was shocked when Hermione burst out laughing.

"Ha ha ha ha!" cried Hermione, banging her fist on the table. "Of course you don't want to date anyone until you're immortal! Ha ha, this is so funny, why can't I stop laughing?"

Her eyes squeezed shut tight, and he thought he saw tears.

"Ha ha, yeah," said Harry, shifting uncomfortably. "Are you alright?"

"Oh, I'm perfectly fine! This all makes so much sense, just too much sense."

"Erm, okay." He wished he'd remembered to cast the other concealment charms, as there was no way someone hadn't heard that even through the barrier.

Once her laughter had dissolved into fitful giggles, she dried her eyes on her sleeve and smiled at Harry. "Well, you know what, I'm happy for you, and for whoever finally wins your heart."

"Ahh..really?"

"Of course. I mean, what a lucky girl. She'll be going out with the smartest and oldest man on Earth. Who knows, maybe it will be my granddaughter?"

That was an awkward thing to say, but Harry only made it worse by adding, "Ha ha, I hope she's as pretty as you."

Harry's mouth snapped shut, but he couldn't take it back.

Hermione blinked. "You think I'm…"

"Objectively speaking, of course!" Harry blurted. "In that sense, a lot of girls are pretty. Like Cho Chang and Marguerite Valentine and…and Tonks, when she's not pretending to be a boy. I mean, even some boys in this room are good-looking, but heaven knows I don't want to date them. Biologically, it's really not all that special to be attractive, it's the natural state of things. And even so, I would choose an ugly girl over a pretty one any day as long as she had a good personality."

His mind was staring in horror at the carnage he'd created. When things got awkward, he just tended to word vomit, and it was not helping, not at all.

"Ahh," Hermione said. "Well, I'm glad we straightened that out." Her knees shook as she stood up. "I'm feeling quite tired, and I don't think I have it in me for another game."

"Right," said Harry, banging his knee on the table in his attempt to stand. "I can't blame you, I'm tired too. Goodnight, Hermione."

She smiled shakily and ran away.

* * *

That night, Hermione Granger turned up the quieter and let herself cry. Her brain kept interrupting, telling her, "I told you so," and "It was just a silly crush anyway." And yet, even as she wanted to believe that was true, the pain in her chest told her it could have been so much more.

But by the next morning, she decided she was done with tears. She'd once read a story about a girl who got dumped, and then spent the next four months catatonic in front of her bedroom window and screaming like a demon at night. Well, she wasn't about to waste her time on that. She was Hermione Granger, and her life didn't revolve around boys.

So, she put on her Beauxbatons uniform, brushed her hair until it looked perfect, and then walked downstairs to breakfast. She sat down beside Harry, who looked tense and uncomfortable.

"Hi," he said. "I…uhh…fruit?" He pointed to the bowl.

She took a piece, and then said, with a gentle smile. "Harry, don't worry, I'm not upset. I was just surprised, that's all. You don't have to worry about me exploding at you."

"So," he said, frowning in confusion. "You don't have any…lingering feelings?"

She let out a laugh, even as her heart squeezed. "Come on, Harry, don't be silly. I'm just happy to be friends. Don't you feel the same?"

"Of course," he said, his fingers picking at the orange without peeling it. "Well…umm…do you want to meet up this afternoon for research?"

"Unfortunately, I'm busy," she said, and she could see the tension leave his shoulders. She understood, because as much as she wanted things to be normal between them, they weren't yet.

At lunchtime, she decided she didn't have to sit at the Ravenclaw table, since she wasn't a Ravenclaw. Instead, she found a seat with the Hufflepuffs near Cedric Diggory.

"Hello," she said. "I wanted to sit with the cool kids today."

Some of the students smiled, and Cedric winked. "So, you've finally come over to the dark side. Well, you're in for a treat. As the Hufflepuffs have a great relationship with the kitchen staff, they always serve us extra helpings."

As if to prove the point, a giant cranberry cobbler appeared nearby, and the students immediately got to serving. The crust was flakey, the cherries tart, and it was hands down the best cobbler Hermione had ever tasted.

 _So this is why the Hufflepuffs are always so cheerful,_ Hermione thought, spooning in another bite.

The conversation was light and relaxing, unlike the deep topics that usually got analyzed at the Ravenclaw table. It was also a little bit boring, but Hermione just let the sound of happy chatter wash over her and tuned out the rest.

A sudden hush brought everyone's attention to the doorway. As if walking on their own personal catwalk, three girls strode in lock step into the Great Hall. The words "Baby Charlie's Angels" flitted through Hermione's mind. On the right was a curly haired brunette Hermione didn't know, on the left was the blonde Susan Bones, and in the middle walked redheaded Ginny. The sun shone at the perfect angle to bring out the highlights in their hair.

"Fashionably late again," muttered Hannah Abbott, from beside her.

Many of the boys and girls of the Hufflepuff table were sneaking glances, especially at Ginny Weasley. As they passed by, she said, "Hi Cedric."

"Hi Ginny," he said, making a careful point not to look at her.

As soon as they left, everyone started talking in a rush.

"I heard she got all of her friends dates with the Durmstrang boys. Susan Bones is going with one whose family owns the largest furniture company in Europe."

"I heard she doesn't have a date yet, but that Boris Krum is interested in her. They're going to Hogsmeade this weekend."

"But I heard…" The student glanced at Hermione, and then fell silent, suddenly very interested in her food.

"He's not going with me," protested Hermione. "And by Ginny, are we talking about Ron's sister?"

"You don't know about her?" asked Leanne. "She's basically the queen bee at Hogwarts. If she likes you, then you're popular. If she doesn't, then you're getting hexed in hallways."

A second year redheaded Hufflepuff said, "She tried to get Cho Chang to join the group, but she wouldn't, so now she has bumps on her bum."

"That's just a theory," retorted a third year. "But if Cho keeps talking to Cedric, she'll be in trouble."

"Why?" asked Hermione.

The third year's voice dropped to a whisper. "Cedric and Ginny used to date, but then she dumped him for a Gryffindor." She lowered her voice even more. "But now that he likes Cho, she keeps trying to get him back."

Hermione glanced at Cedric, who was focused on eating his pie, although clearly not enjoying it.

Oddly enough, this situation wasn't unfamiliar to Hermione. At Beauxbatons, all of the girls were pretty and cultured. If you didn't fit into that mold, you didn't exist, as far as they were concerned. At least here in Hogwarts, there only seemed to be a small group of Barbie dolls, so now she knew who to avoid.

Of course, Ginny's crew wouldn't bother her any more than the Beauxbatons girls did. Hermione had never been "girly," but she was powerful and famous, so all the girls in her year made an effort to befriend her. Hermione had drifted in and out of a few social circles before she realized it was more fun to just spend time alone.

Well, that needed to change.

"Hannah," said Hermione. "Do you want to go to Hogsmeade this weekend?"

* * *

Daphne Greengrass strode down the hallway, burning with frustration.

She had been trying her hardest. She'd walked right past him, flipping her newly straightened blonde hair just so, and he hadn't looked at her. She'd laughed really loudly in his general direction, acting cute and funny, but he hadn't glanced up from his food. What else was she supposed to do? It had gotten to the point now when she couldn't concentrate during Herbology. He would always come alive, in his element, and she would spend the entire hour staring at him instead of actually learning anything.

It was time to take action. Lavender Brown's bold move had inspired her—she had to do whatever it took to get her man.

Steeling herself with resolve, she stepped into the Beauxbatons common room, where Marguerite Valentine was holding her weekly lessons on The Art of Seduction.

"Even if you're already dating someone, or you're just not ready, you can use the art of seduction in many areas of your life," said Marguerite, leading a discussion from the Beauxbatons couch. "For example, if you're trying to get a new internship within the ministry, you'll want to stand out among the candidates. Referring to lesson seven, you'll know that means you need to appear how your employer expects a new candidate to be: confident, knowledgeable, and eager to learn. School your responses to win their approval and you'll get the job.

"This also works for professors. Some, such as Professor McGonagall, demand strict attention to detail and a strong work ethic. And some, like Professor Slughorn, admire charisma and cunning. You can see their values and way of thinking reflected in their test questions, and you can modify your responses to best suit their taste."

A few Ravenclaws and Slytherins feverishly jotted down notes. A second year Gryffindor raised her hand, and Marguerite said gently, "You don't have to raise your hands in my class. Just speak as you like."

"Miss Marguerite," said the student. "How do we get up the courage to tell a boy our feelings? I want to go to the Yule Ball with my best friend, but he hasn't asked me yet."

"Well," said Marguerite, with a smile. "It just so happens we'll be studying that today. Everyone turn to Chapter Ten in your textbooks."

After class, Daphne Greengrass stayed back to talk to the teacher. "Prof—I mean, Miss Marguerite," said Daphne. "I really liked your lecture today. I wanted to ask you a few more questions. You see, I've got a really bad crush on a guy I can't have, and I can't sleep and…I need help." She balled up her fists, her eyes squeezing shut at the force of the next words. "Please teach me how to seduce a man."

Marguerite clapped her hands, "You just said the magic words. Come, sit down." She beckoned Daphne to sit down beside her as she poured a cup of tea. Then, she cast a few quieting charms before putting away her wand. "Now, tell me everything about him."

Daphne paused, fear gripping her insides. "Do you…promise you won't tell anyone?"

"My dear," She clasped a hand to her chest. "I am a professional. Your secrets are safe with me."

And so, Daphne spent the next ten minutes unburdening herself of everything. When she was finished, Marguerite began asking questions.

"You say you've never talked to him since first year?"

Daphne thought back. "Actually, there was one time. Earlier last month, on October 3rd, he asked me what day it was. I said, "It's October 3rd."

She smiled exuberantly at the memory, and then sighed. "It's hopeless, isn't it? I've known him for five years. A plant would do better than me. He might have at least touched my leaves or…pruned them."

"Oh, it's not so bad as you think," said Marguerite, taking a firm hold of Daphne's hands. "I believe I can help you, but first I have a question for you. Are you willing to do whatever it takes?"

Daphne nodded. "Yes, I am."

"Good. Then, if you try these three techniques I'll show you, then there's an 89% chance you'll have a full conversation within two weeks. And if you're lucky," she said with a smile. "That's all you need to ask him to the Yule Ball."

* * *

" _Identificus,_ " said Harry, pointing his wand at the white stuffed bear.

The spell, instead of speaking aloud, wrote the words "white stuffed bear" on the parchment next to the number 4.

" _Identificus_ " said Harry again, drawing his wand across an identical—but clean copy—of the sheet of numbers.

On the sheet, next to the numbers 4, 15 and 39, the words "white stuffed bear," "green stuffed bear" and "blue stuffed bear" appeared. These items, out of a list of 50, were the only ones currently in the room.

Harry briefly looked at his list of things to do. Then, he gathered together a blank piece of printer paper, a cue ball and the white stuffed bear. He assigned the word "white" a number (1) and then assigned the "white bear" the numbers (1)(2) and the "white ball" (1)(3) and the "white paper" (1)(4). Then he pointed his wand at the bear, " _Identificus_."

The spell made a screaming noise and the paper burst into flames.

Harry cast " _Everto_ " and then, muttering, wrote down the results of his experiment.

He heard the door open behind him, and he scrambled to hide the evidence of his betrayal.

"Harry Potter, what are you doing?" cried Hermione, hands on her hips.

"It was just a few routine experiments, nothing groundbreaking! I promise, the spell is still completely useless."

"Well good," said Hermione. "Because if you'd actually made any progress in getting it to work, I would be very annoyed that I'd missed it."

Hermione approached the lab table. "Anyway, what did you find out?"

"I still haven't found a viable method of making a range search, which is about the only way we can use this spell practically. I did make the spell scream at me though."

Hermione chuckled, shaking her head. Harry honestly wouldn't have minded if she wanted to tease him about that—he was just happy things were back to normal between them.

"The thing is," said Harry. "We can't catalogue every single item and search by title. It would take too long, and if we need the physical presence of each item to encode it, then this spell is beyond useless. Besides, we don't even know the name of the item we're testing, all we have are descriptive details. So, I was thinking, if we do a range search on one page at a time it could help us narrow down the items we'd need to test."

"Right," said Hermione, as she scanned the paper. "Getting rid of all powders that aren't white would be a good start."

"It could cut down at least three-quarters of them," said Harry. "As long as the spell can read both object names and descriptions from the book. Which, at this point, it can't. I have a feeling it's just not smart enough."

"Not smart enough?" asked Hermione.

"The comparisons aren't exact, but we have a hash table, and we need a binary search tree," said Harry. "Uhh…I've been reading about coding lately. Thought it might help."

Harry scratched his head, trying to find the best way to explain data structures.

"Humm," said Hermione, finger to her lips. "Let me see if I remember…search trees use logarithms to sort data? Which makes it much more versatile than a hash table, which doesn't sort at all."

Harry smiled warmly. "I wouldn't exactly word it that way, but…close enough." He grabbed the cue ball, started tossing it. "A BST spell would allow us to do a range search, since we could sort by color as well as other traits. Anyway, I was going to run a few more tests, if you'd like to join me. I want to see if the spell can identify an item based on a picture, so we might need to borrow Colin's camera—"

"Harry, that's great, but you do know you have a meeting in five minutes, right?"

"Huh?"

"The Bayesian Conspiracy," said Hermione, jerking a thumb towards the door. "They were already gathering when I came in."

Harry cursed. He grabbed their current textbook from his pouch and flipped through. He'd had so much planned for this morning, and he'd thought he would have time after he finished, but then he'd had a few more ideas and then...

 _Yes, I know, I fell for the planning fallacy again. Ha ha, shut up brain._

"Uggh, we finished the last unit. Hermione, tell me what we're studying today."

She blinked. "Uhh…do you have anything like a backup lesson?"

"Yes, but...I was sort of dreading…alright, fine," he said with a sigh. "So it begins, then."

* * *

As far as lessons go, it wasn't the worst.

But it was cold outside, and raining, so the group was small and lethargic. Also, Harry had chosen to introduce the subject of computers, which was like the universal snooze button for wizards. What did they need typing for, when they had quills that could write and draw pictures using dictation? What was the point of email when it was 10 times more fun to send things by howler? Also, everyone seemed puzzled by the idea of dial-up.

Only Dean seemed to be bothering to take notes, and even then he was frequently distracted by everyone else's jokes.

"Hold up," said Seamus. "You mean to tell me we can't talk to it and tell it what to do?"

"Well, you can," said Harry. "But you have to type the commands in a special language called code."

"Oh, like Morse Code!" exclaimed Ernie MacMillan. "That's how Muggles communicate, we learned that in class yesterday. So, you just make the beeping sounds and it'll listen then?" His face screwed up. "It sounds like a bother, to be honest."

"No, it's…first of all, Muggles don't communicate with Morse Code anymore. We use the telephone and recently email has become popular. Second of all, code is how programmers write programs to be executed…"

"So, let me get this straight," said Blaise, his voice sardonic. "You're saying we _do_ have to learn a new language to communicate with it? I thought you said computers were smart. Even my half-deaf Great Aunt can speak English, and she thinks Grindelwald is her boyfriend."

Harry smiled with abnormal cheerfulness and snapped his book shut. "So, we'll pick this subject up next week. Everyone, please have some snacks before you go. Any questions?"

Seamus raised his hand. "I have a question for Hermione. Is it true you're going to Hogsmeade tomorrow?"

"Oh yeah, I heard about that," said Ernie Macmillan. "You're going with Hannah and her friends from Ravenclaw, right?"

"Well…yeah," said Hermione uncertainly.

"Aww, your first proper Hogsmeade outing," said Dean Thomas.

"Don't stay out too late," said Blaise. "You might catch cold."

"And don't talk to strangers," said Seamus.

"You've been spending too much time with the Weasleys," said Hermione, and everyone chuckled.

"How about we all go?" suggested Ernie. "We can show you all the fun places. Harry, _you_ should come too."

Hermione was starting to get a bad feeling that this was a Set Up.

"I've got plans," said Harry.

"With who, your closet?" said Blaise. "Cancel them, I'm sure it won't mind."

Hermione stood up, saying nervously. "Well boys, I thank you for your chivalry, but it's girls only. I'm afraid you're not invited."

Everyone made sad, disappointed sounds.

"Alright, but next time invite us," said Seamus. "Especially Harry. He really needs to get out more."

"Well, I'm not disagreeing," said Harry, gathering his papers. "But I do think Hermione can take care of herself. And Blaise," Harry turned and gave a smile. "What I do with my closet is my own business. Just like what you do with your right sock. But don't worry, I won't tell the left one that you're cheating."

Hermione flushed, worried that Harry's stupid temper would cause a fight to break out and _she'd_ have to break it up.

Instead, the room exploded in laughter. Blaise gave Harry a nod, as if to say, "Touché, mate, what a well-worded insult."

Hermione shook her head, deciding that she would never understand Boy Logic.

* * *

That Saturday morning, Harry went looking for Professor Vector. He found her in the Arithmancy classroom on the seventh floor, a colorful equation suspended in front of her. Harry watched her nudge a blue decimal point over one place with her wand, muttering to herself.

"Good morning," said Harry. "Do you know anything about the wizarding equivalent of running an algorithm in logarithmic time?"

She turned toward the door, blinking at Harry. "What?"

Harry wrote a basic equation on the board in white chalk, and then an even more basic equation when she still looked confused.

"Oh!" said Professor Vector, snapping her fingers. "Your problem is contingent on the value of the numbers remaining constant."

"Well…yeah."

Vector sighed. "Arithmancy is not so simple, I'm afraid. It deals in probabilities, which means multiple variables providing different solutions. I am often quite jealous of Muggle mathematicians that know 2+2 always equals 4."

She swept a finger towards the colorful knot of equations. "This, for example, is a quarter 6, which is almost a square without the leg."

Harry examined the swirling mess of numbers, which looked nothing like a square or a leg. "What is a square, exactly?" asked Harry.

"Well, that depends on the triplet of the number 5, which is contingent on the nexus configuration."

"Alright, nevermind." If this really was wizard quantum physics, then his brain wasn't ready. He needed to be old enough to drink first. "Do you have anything that's like…maybe a sorting spell?"

"Sorting spell?" She frowned. "That's housewife magic. You'd be better off asking Flitwick for a laundry charm. At any rate, Arithmancy is more closely aligned with prophesy and predicting the future."

As he left her classroom, Harry heard Hermione's voice in his head. _Well at least you didn't bite another maths teacher._

He smiled in spite of himself. What would she think of Professor Vector? He could hear himself complaining. _I told you this would be a waste of time. But, I suppose we had to ask for the sake of exploring all options._

 _You know,_ said Ravenclaw. _I think I rather prefer talking things over with Hermione than with myself, generally speaking. She always helps me see things in a different way, and I…kind of need that._

Harry had never met anyone, besides perhaps Professor Quirrell, who seemed to get what he was talking about without him having to water it down, or change the wording. It wasn't just because she was smart, either. He didn't know what it was, but he had a feeling that it was rare, in both the Muggle and Wizarding worlds.

He hoped she was having a good time at Hogsmeade. If dueling wasn't going to help, then he knew she needed something to lift her spirits. He wasn't sure that was something he could do for her.

Harry sighed, then checked his watch. It was time to go.

He went to see Professor Flitwick for his off-campus day pass. Walking outside past the wards, he turned himself invisible. Then, he took out his reusable portkey (expensive, but cheaper than the bus fare). A few seconds later, an invisible Harry appeared in the parking lot of a local college.

By now, he knew the routine. He ducked into a secluded location, pulled the backpack from his pouch and shouldered it. Then, turning visible, he made his way over and climbed the long flight of steps to the library. As he puffed and wheezed, he grumbled about why he'd chosen the college built on the hill—it was always a trek to get anywhere. By the time he made it to the top, he had decided it was high time he found a more convenient school.

 _Or you could just exercise more,_ said his Gryffindor side. _Okay…you guys can stop laughing now._

Once inside, Harry settled into a desk and used his magically obtained student ID to get access to the computer system. Typing in his password, he logged into his email to check for new messages. There was only one, but it was from a highly regarded physicist, so he read it eagerly.

While he waited for the computer to finish loading the online database, he pulled out a few of his library books from his backpack. He also took out some crisps, since he knew he would not be back for dinner.

Spreading his study materials in front of him, Harry got to work.


	20. Ketchup in Soup

Chapter 20: Heroes and Villains

"What is this called again?" asked Hermione, staring uncertainly at the woman hacking away at her cuticles.

"A manipedi," replied Susan. "Isn't it fun?"

Beside her, Cho and Katie giggled, clearly enjoying themselves, while Hermione wore a nervous frown. She might have been more comfortable if she didn't feel so sorry for the beautician. Hermione's nails were not normal—they were made from Alicorn horn and impossible to cut by hand. Even magical solutions were tough to find.

Not that the witch in front of her seemed to care. She scrubbed her nail file with an expert's precision, and once or twice Hermione thought she could see progress, but it was probably just wishful thinking.

Her cuticles were normal, at least, so the beautician had switched tactics and was trimming those to perfection.

When they got the bill, Hermione blinked to make sure she was seeing correctly.

"Two galleons?" she croaked, estimating it at around 100 pounds. "But the treatment was only supposed to be one..."

Then Hermione remembered all the extra things her friends had asked for that they'd cajoled her into trying too, saying, "Get this one, the colours change every few hours!" and "It'll make your skin glow and your pores invisible!" If she'd known the cost, she would have realized she didn't need invisible pores.

And then, with a wave of her hand, Hannah snatched Hermione's bill and said, "Put it on my tab, Mari."

Hermione gaped at her. "You can't, Hannah!"

"It's okay!" said Hannah, smiling. "I get a discount, you know, if I spend more. Besides, I've already decided I'm treating you today, and nothing you say will make me change my mind."

The four girls—Hannah, Hermione, Cho Chang and Katie Bell—all left the beauty parlour looking about as pretty as when they went in, but feeling a lot better about themselves. Hermione kept rubbing the smooth skin on her hands, smiling at the moon and stars painted on her nails.

They went across the street and got green tea smoothies—which Susan declared was the best thing for after the salon—and then sat down in a booth to chat.

While Katie regaled everyone with a story about her horrid summer vacation, Hermione couldn't help glancing at Cho Chang. She smiled easily, her eyes gentle and expressive, which gave her an almost childlike aura. Hermione wondered if that was what Harry liked about her, or maybe it was her slight frame and long, shiny hair.

Cho Chang glanced at Hermione, who jerked her head away to pretend she hadn't been looking. Hermione knew her jealousy was stupid, especially since he'd already said he wouldn't be dating either of them.

And yet, he'd been living with Cho Chang in Ravenclaw for 5 years, but he'd only been around Hermione for less than 2, and next year she'd be back at Beauxbatons. Cho Chang was an intelligent and accomplished witch, someone Harry could befriend when Hermione was gone. Maybe he would decide the Noble House of Potter needed an heir, and of course he'd pick her because she was cute and slim and…well, normal. Hermione wasn't sure if her modified biology would allow her to have children at all.

Katie gasped. "My purse! I think I forgot it at the shop."

Everyone stood to follow her to the salon, as Katie described all the places she could have left it and all the things inside she was afraid were gone.

Hermione heard a small pop behind her, and then a horn honking loudly. She turned to see a young woman holding an infant, standing directly in the path of an oncoming truck.

Hermione had to act fast. She'd tested at 800 kilometres per hour, around the speed of a jet plane. However, she couldn't just launch herself that fast, or she'd crush them, but too slow and they'd be crushed by the truck.

So, she did what she'd trained for in practice. She ran to the spot instantaneously, skidded against the pavement, then grabbed the woman to sprint them both away from the eighteen wheeler's looming bumper. The truck swerved, missing them by inches as Hermione fled to the sidewalk and deposited them among the curious onlookers.

"I'm sorry—ahh, I'm so sorry!" cried the woman.

"Don't worry, it was no trouble. I'm just glad you're…"

Hermione glanced down at her shirt, where there was a giant wet spot.

"She spit up on you," admitted the woman, dabbing Hermione ineffectually with a duck print cloth. Then, smacking her forehead, she laughed and drew her wand, " _Everto_. Sorry, I forget sometimes, since she drools so often I have to clean it by hand." The lady beamed at Hermione, adjusting the child's position in her arms. "Thank you so much for saving us! We apparated in and I must have gotten the location messed up. Ahh, I should have listened to Jessie and just taken the tram."

"Would you like to sit down?" asked Hermione, noticing how flushed the woman looked, and how her step rocked a bit.

"Yes—yes, I would," she replied, and Hermione took her to the coffee shop and ordered her a drink. Hermione couldn't help the warm surge of pride at being helpful as she handed the cocoa to the lady, who sipped gratefully and said, "You're such a kind girl, just like all the newspapers say. Why, my sister won't believe me, that I was saved by the Girl-Who-Revived!"

Hermione flushed and said, "I just wanted to help."

"Can I shake your hand?" asked the lady, clasping Hermione's warm hands in hers. "Your family must be so proud of you, and I hope someday my daughter might be like you. You're a beacon, Miss Granger. Don't stop giving us hope."

Hermione left to rejoin her friends, but she was quiet for much of the afternoon. The warm pride had left her with a sudden realization. She'd been focusing on all the wrong things. Being an Auror wasn't about pleasing Madam Bones, or logging enough duelling hours, or earning points with adoring fans. It was about helping people who needed her the most, and she was going to spend her life doing that, no matter what.

* * *

It was weird how life had a habit of testing resolutions as soon as she made them.

The last three days had been brutal. Hermione had been required to do a lot of Triwizard prep work, which meant spending six hours each day underwater. And on top of this, it was clear Madam Bones had asked her co-workers to babysit her, as Auror Lee was constantly watching her work instead of focusing on his own. That meant it took twice as long, and everyone was upset and annoyed.

Hermione, for the umpteenth time that week, plunked down at the Hufflepuff table for dinner. She had become a regular guest, but she could tell by the looks that she was wearing out her welcome. She couldn't help it that she didn't want to talk and that she looked like death. She needed that delicious pie, and didn't care what she had to do to get it.

"Umm…Hermione?" asked Neville.

"What?"

"You're…umm…pouring ketchup in your soup."

She glanced down to see plops of tomato goo in her chicken soup. Oops.

Moving the ketchup bottle, she squirted it on her chips and, with a wave of her wand, sent the soup back to the kitchens.

Neville set down his spoon. "Are you alright, Hermione? We're worried about you."

Hannah, who sat diagonally across from her, leaned forward, her gaze concerned. "He's right. You've not been yourself."

"I'm just a bit tired, that's all," said Hermione. She would have explained more, if not for the fact that she was dangerously close to the loopy state where she would reveal secret tournament information.

She saw a few Hufflepuffs sneak glances at the Ravenclaw table, probably expecting to see a sullen, sulking Harry. Hermione sighed—they would always assume her problems revolved around him. Admittedly, sitting beside the boy who'd rejected her wasn't the best thing for her at the moment, but the main reason she'd defected to Hufflepuff was the food.

A Slytherin girl passed behind Neville and dropped a book. "Oh no!" she cried. "It looks like I'll need to…"

She bent down, just as Neville turned to help, and then she quickly jerked back to her feet, her hand smacking into his head.

"Oww!" he said, rubbing his nose. "Are you…?"

The girl shrieked and ran off.

Neville frowned after her. "That's the third time this week. Every time I see her, something weird happens. Maybe I'm just bad luck?"

"Oy, isn't that girl part of Ginny's group?" said one of his friends. "What's she doing on the Hufflepuff side, anyway?

Neville watched her return to her seat, and then ducked his head back to his food. "Yeah. Weird."

A few moments later, Hermione felt a tap on her shoulder. It was Harry. "After dinner, can I talk to you?"

Outside the Great Hall, in a little used corridor, Hermione found Harry leaning against the wall.

"Busy day?" asked Harry, hands shoved in his pockets.

"Yes," sighed Hermione. "I wish I could talk about it, but, you know, secrets."

He nodded. "I know. But, if you want to complain in vague terms, I'm here to listen."

Hermione smiled. "Thanks, Harry."

"Well, I can see you look tired, so, I'm guessing you're not up for research tonight. Want to do some light reading? I found some interesting books when I went into town last week. Or we could play a game. Michael Corner has cards we could borrow, and I heard the Hufflepuffs have an entire game closet."

Hermione looked at the floor, a knot twisting in her stomach. If she tried to bring up the fact that spending so much time alone with him was making people talk, he would say that their opinions didn't matter. She didn't know how to tell him that being treated like she was special—reading and working together, telling secret private jokes—was no longer comfortable. She wished she could wave a magic wand and make things normal again, but it didn't work like that.

What really sucked was that her best friend was trying to cheer her up, but the only thing he could do to help was leave her alone.

"I'm really tired," she said. "I'm going to turn in early."

He was silent for a moment, then nodded, as if he'd expected that. They started walking back out into the main hallway. "Umm…before you go," said Harry. "I wanted to ask you one thing. I found this quest, and I don't know where it goes, but there's one riddle that stumps me—"

"Now, there's the two students I've been looking for," said a voice behind them, clapping them on the shoulders. Hermione jumped, and Harry's wand found a way to his hand. Slughorn's voice continued. "Why don't you both meet me in my office in 5 minutes?"

Harry and Hermione glanced at each other as he walked away. Despite Slughorn's genial tone, they both knew that wasn't a suggestion.

* * *

Five minutes later, Harry and Hermione sat beside each other in the emerald-tinted office of the Head of Slytherin. The chairs were stuffed and upholstered in a psychedelic green and brown, a pattern leftover from the 1970s. Pictures on the desk showed Slughorn shaking hands with various famous individuals, and on his walls, an assortment of awards, diplomas, and pastoral art. A deer leapt over a river in the painting before him, as if running from the hunting parties in the picture beside it.

"Would you care for a spot of tea?" asked Slughorn, pouring a steaming cup. "I always prepare lemon tea after dinner. It helps with digestion and getting a good night's rest."

Hermione looked at Harry, then shrugged and accepted the cup. Harry followed suit, though he did do a cursory potion test. Slughorn calmly sipped his tea and studied them both.

"You've grown to be fine young students. Miss Hermione Granger of Beauxbatons, the Girl-Who-Revived and Auror-in-training, and Harry Potter of Hogwarts, the Boy-Who-Lived and a burgeoning scientist. The two of you make a handsome pair."

Harry sat in silence, waiting for him to get on with it. Normally, he might have played around a bit with sarcastic comments, but Hermione was here so he didn't.

"In fact," said Slughorn, leaning forward. "I heard from one of my students that you're working on a very intriguing project. But I'd like to hear it from you- is it true you're trying to create a Spell of Identity?"

It didn't take long for Harry to figure out who told Slughorn, but he decided there would be no harm in discussing their experiment. As he explained it, he looked to Hermione for input, but she kept her eyes trained on her lap.

"Ahh," said Slughorn, tenting his fingers. "That is an excellent idea, and exactly the sort of thing young Ravenclaws ought to be doing. Unfortunately, the Slytherins beat you to it by about 30 years."

Harry sighed. "Yes, well, I figured there might be a similar spell already in existence. If there weren't, then I don't know how magical researchers can do their work with any sort of efficiency."

"Oh, you would be surprised. Only fifty years ago, my co-workers made do with the crudest of sorting spells to identify most objects, relying instead on building a great memory for the attributes of each substance and potion. I never was one for memorization, and neither was my friend, Phineas Scarpin. He worked for several years at the Ministry. Did you know that they have a giant book that includes the name and description of every magical item located within England?"

Slughorn waited, expecting an answer. "Question," said Harry, leaning forward. "Do you mean all the items located in England at the time of the book's writing, or every magical item currently located within its borders? I mean, does it keep updating continuously?"

"No, yes and yes," responded Slughorn. "It's one of the ways that the Ministry can keep track of illegal magical contraband. My friend Phineas worked within the customs department, and it made things quite difficult when he confiscated something but couldn't figure out what it was. So he concocted a few strategies to simplify his work for him."

Professor Slughorn drew a potion from his desk, and poured a small amount over his pen. The potion dripped onto the desk, and Slughorn said. "The pen, as you can see, was a gift from a Muggleborn student and is non-magical." Slughorn turned and dripped a bit more of the potion over a lamp. " _Item: Green shaded lamp,"_ said a woman's voice _. "Place of purchase: Flourish and Blotts. Item code: 29472—"_

Horace cast _'Scourgify_ ,' and the voice ceased. "It works on any magical item in the room. You're free to test it if you like."

He passed the potion to the space between Harry and Hermione. Before Harry could touch it, Professor Slughorn cast a yellow spell over the potion, which Harry recognized as the "Don't steal this," enchantment.

Not that Harry _would_ have done that, but it wouldn't have been very Slytherin to do otherwise.

Harry glanced at Hermione, holding out the potion, but she just shook her head and took a sip of her tea. She really must be tired if a magical solution to their research couldn't interest her.

Harry examined the bottle, "What happens if I pour it on myself?"

"It will burn a little," said Professor Slughorn. "But it won't set off the spell, since wizards don't count as magical items."

Harry suspected he wasn't the only wizard who'd tried to enchant his body parts. Were those…err…items not included within the database? What about his robe pocket? These were questions he couldn't test around Horace Slughorn, or think too loudly in his presence.

"I'll test it later," said Harry, handing back the potion. "After I make my own."

"How will you do that, my boy?" asked Slughorn.

"Umm…I suppose I'll ask you to teach me how."

"I'm not sure I can do that," said Slughorn, shaking his head. "I am quite a busy man. My only free time is reserved for my extracurricular activities, such as the Slug Club."

Harry had figured that was where it was going. "I suppose if a student were to join your Slug Club, you might have time to slip them the potion recipe over dessert?"

"Oh, I could do more than that," said Slughorn. "I could even personally instruct a student on how to brew it. As long as they've attended a few of my dinners, of course."

"Which days?" asked Harry, resigning himself.

Slughorn beamed. "We have a meeting tomorrow evening. I do hope to see both of you there."

"That's Thursday," said Harry. "Hermione has Auror dinners on Thursdays."

"Ahh, is that so?" said Slughorn, rapping his fingers against the table. "Well, then I suppose there's no harm in moving my meetings to Sunday evenings for the duration of the semester. Are you free then, my dear Hermione?"

She didn't react to the term of endearment. "Yes, I am," she replied.

"Good," he said, and stood up from his chair. "I expect to see you both at 7:00 pm. Have a pleasant evening."

Once the door closed behind them, Harry said, "Of all the professors in Hogwarts, I honestly didn't expect it would be Slughorn who would have the answers."

Hermione said, with a soft, regretful smile, "I guess this means we're not working on the project anymore."

Harry turned to her, feeling a similar regret washing over him. "Well…think of it this way. We learned a lot about spell creation in the process, which we will use on future projects. I have plenty more ideas for experiments that we can work on together, and you can pick the next topic of research."

"You're right." She shrugged. "Still, I think we could have solved it eventually, on our own."

Harry felt a pang in his heart. "Yes. I'm sure we could have."

Sometimes it wasn't fun to have the adults solve your problems for you.

They walked on in silence for a few moments, while Harry racked his brain for something to talk about.

"So, Slughorn's dinner party," said Harry. "That should be…interesting."

"I know. Perhaps we'll get another long lecture about following our dreams."

"Or even better, a long lecture about how all of Slughorn's prized students followed _their_ dreams, while we sit in rapt silence for 45 minutes."

Hermione smiled. They reached the corridor where they normally separated for their dorms. The hallway around them was empty. "Hey Harry?" she said.

"What?"

Hermione hugged him. "Thanks for being a good friend."

Surprised, Harry only just barely returned the hug when she released him. "Goodnight," she said, and walked away.

* * *

After the students left, Horace sat back in his chair, taking a sip of his tea.

At some point during their visit, Horace had discovered that the rumours of Harry's flight ability were true. He also realized, through a few careful experiments, that Harry was a skilled Occlumens. There were always tells—for example, a student wouldn't put up such a careful wall against their true thoughts unless they knew they might be searched. He'd been coaching Blaise in occlumency, but Harry was beyond his level, as if he'd been practicing for years.

Horace smiled and flicked his wand, the opening strains of a Strauss horn concerto filling the room.

The boy was smart, but he missed details on occasion. For example, he'd neglected ask after the other means of determining the identity of a substance—the one that involved charm work, and which could examine magical artefacts within a human person. It was useful for detecting the…more common means of smuggling contraband.

Perhaps Horace would tell him later, if Harry continued to attend the meetings. Horace really hoped he would, as he had great aspirations for the boy. He knew people who would be quite interested in meeting him to discuss career prospects.

As for Hermione Granger, he couldn't get a read on her at all. He'd tried several times, but she'd kept her eyes almost exclusively on her tea cup. It was mystifying how a girl who seemed entirely devoid of Slytherin cunning could keep eluding him. Unless, that's what she _wanted_ him to think. Maybe the trick was to get him to underestimate her, so she could trap him unawares.

Slughorn shook his head. No, that couldn't be right. He'd taught so many Slytherins that he knew what real cunning looked like, and she would be an unskilled user at best. In fact, if he examined her carefully, he realized she reminded him quite strongly of a young Gryffindor he used to teach. He smiled at the memory. A bright, noble witch who was both a great leader and good friend. Hermione was a bit more reserved than she had been, but no less brave.

And Harry, now that he thought about it, reminded him of someone too.

Horace stiffened, the room seeming to grow degrees colder. With a shaking hand, he whisked away the tea, while the music continued in lilting tones.

Perhaps it would best to put this reminiscing out of his mind. He glanced at his clock, which read 8:30. Time for his nightcap.

As he poured the wine, Horace turned to more pleasant thoughts. He would have to call up his old friends and ask about their Christmas plans. It was going to be an exciting party this year.


	21. Symphonies of the Planets

Chapter 21: Symphonies of the Planets

 _Flick once upwards, make a b…_

Dean Thomas practiced the wand movement, his wand directed at an egg. Then, in a loud voice, he cried out, " _Dongurami!_ "

A circle of power flashed around the egg. He picked it up off the table, then let it fall to the floor.

Finally, on this fifth attempt, the egg bounced without cracking.

He pumped his arm in triumph, and then bent down to pick up the little marvel. Even when he turned it in the light, he could barely detect the soft sheen of magic surrounding it.

"Hi Dean," said Padma's voice behind him. "What are you doing?"

Dean turned to see her carrying a bag full of experiment supplies. He flashed her a grin, holding out the egg for her inspection. "Harry showed me this new spell today, one that he's going to test out on a rocket. It's supposed to protect any object against damage. I was thinking it might help me with the Gameboy project, since the Faraday Cage didn't work." He still felt disappointed about that—he had been so certain. "It only works for a few hours, and it won't protect against strong magic, but it's worth a shot, right?"

Padma turned the egg in her hand. "You're very dedicated to this project. It's admirable."

Dean smiled, giving a small bow. "Thank you. I just hope I can solve this before the year's up."

She set down her bag on the table, but instead of emptying it like usual, she fidgeted with the clasp. After a few moments of silence, she said, "Umm…will you teach me the spell? I'd like to learn it too."

"Of course!" said Dean, who'd never thought he'd have a reason to teach her anything. She looked nervous, so he hastened to reassure her. "It's easy once you get the hang of it."

* * *

On Saturday morning, Harry sat by the window in one of the many abandoned hallways in Hogwarts, an open book perched on his knees. He recast " _Thermos_ ," as he was forced to do much more often lately. It was about time to invest in a winter warming charm.

Harry checked his watch again. He didn't know if Hermione would show up, but he decided not to pester her, in case she wanted to sleep in. Also, the last time he'd tried to wake her, he'd gotten an earful about how "some people don't like to get up at the crack of dawn like you, Harry" and "it's not polite to enter a girl's room uninvited, even if it's just your Patronus." This time, he decided he was perfectly content to read and wait.

A few minutes later, he heard shuffling footsteps. Hermione came around the corner, rubbing a tired hand over her eyes. "Hi, Harry. Can I just open the quest door and you can go without me?"

He nodded and closed his book, his heart dropping a little in disappointment. He'd suspected that she would suggest that, but he'd barely seen her all week. She even spent her meals at different house tables. She'd told him it was just for the food, but it still felt like she was avoiding him.

Harry watched uncertainly as she approached the quest door. He knew her heavy schedule of coursework and Auror duties probably left her craving alone time. And considering that she associated him with chaos…well, she probably wanted less to do with him than usual. As much as he missed her company, he worried that pressuring her about it would only drive her farther away. The safest course of action would be to be available when she wanted him.

Hermione readied her wand. "If you get anything nice, like a crown or a necklace, split it with me."

Harry nodded. "Of course. Right down the middle."

Hermione opened the doorway, and Harry moved to step inside, his Ravenclaw side warning, _Hum, it's the first time we've done this, what do you think-_

A green barrier flashed up and pushed him away. A shrill voice chanted. " _Sneaky student, this quest you steal, will slip inside and make you heel!"_

Harry bent over, clutching his stomach, making choking noises. Splitting pain twisted his insides as something _jumped_ inside him.

"Harry!" cried Hermione, clutching his shoulders.

Harry's mind flashed back to the Alien movie, where the alien burst out of John Hurt's chest. With dawning horror, he realized that if Hogwarts had ancient magic that would create deserts out of nowhere simply for failing a quest, who knew what it would conjure up for trying to _steal_ one.

Bile and spit were rising in his throat, his stomach roiling in pain as his brain choked up a word. _Frogs._ He'd seen the jinx used before, and outside of some unknown body horror, it was the closest thing he knew that could cause so much pain.

As if realizing at the same moment, Hermione let out a shaking breath and stepped back. " _Rana Exidus!_ "

The jumping ceased instantly, and Harry vomited his breakfast, along with five dead pond frogs onto the castle floor.

Harry fell to his hands and knees, dry heaving, while Hermione cleaned the mess and rushed to his side, her hand resting against his back. When Harry could finally speak, he said softly, "Thank you, Hermione Granger, for your quick thinking and your amazing memory."

"I'm so sorry," she said, her voice shaky with tears. "I—I had no idea that would happen."

"Neither did I," said Harry, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. "Don't blame yourself."

"Let's just close the quest door," said Hermione, her wand pointed at the hole in the wall. "Umm…how do I do that?"

"I don't know," he shrugged. "I never tried before."

Harry sat on the floor and watched her attempt several different strategies, her failures quickly building into frustration.

"Uggh!" groaned Hermione, stomping her foot. "Go away, stupid door! Close Sesame!"

That strategy didn't work, either, though it did make Harry smile.

He considered getting off the floor and helping, but his stomach didn't like that idea. He offered a few more suggestions, which she tried, but the quest door remained open.

"What if we just leave?" asked Hermione. "It has to close eventually. I mean, it _has_ to."

Harry shrugged. "Not really. I've seen enough to conclude that Hogwarts can do whatever it wants with its doorways. We could take the safe course of action and ask a professor for help, but I'm going to tentatively suggest we do the quest. It won't last more than three hours, anyway."

"What do you mean?

"The quest respects time limits," explained Harry. "It always calls when you're not busy, and it won't interfere with class schedules or activities."

Hermione brightened in sudden realization. "You're right. And we have lunch at noon, don't we? And dance class at 11:00!"

Oh, that's right…he'd been trying to forget.

"And it's 9:00 am now," she said. "So that means the quest will take two hours, tops."

Harry glanced up at her, hope rising in his chest. "That's certainly possible. I even finished in one hour once."

Her eyebrows raised sceptically. "One hour? How many different games?"

"Four," replied Harry.

"In that case," said Hermione, lifting her chin. "I'll do it in 45 minutes."

The light of competition danced in her eyes, and he grinned in anticipation. He rose to his feet. "Well, what are we—oh, ouch, oww!"

He staggered, his stomach folding in on itself, and Hermione gazed in concern. "Are you sure you want to come? I could…"

"Give me a second," he said through gritted teeth. Harry pulled a book from his pouch, flipping through until he found the page. The hand movements were tricky, and the words were hard to pronounce, but he had to at least try.

" _Sàrachadh pian,_ " he said, his wand pointing at his stomach. The instant relief told him it worked.

"All right then," said Harry, hiding a smug smile as he put away his things. "Shall we go?"

* * *

Hermione realized in the middle of the Ravenclaw quest that there were two things wrong with her plan to beat Harry's record.

The first was that competition with Harry sort of equalled flirting. She hadn't realized this was always true until the second quest, when she'd started teasing him about being slow, only to realize that her next impulse had been to kiss him.

The worst part was, he was so good at teasing her back. He probably just assumed it was friendly banter and didn't realize it was basically her kryptonite.

The second thing she realized was that even troll unicorn princesses couldn't run on high-octane mode all week and expect to fare well by the end. She stumbled through the 4th quest-oversized Mine Sweeper-and then almost groaned when the 5th was giant Wizard Chess. The quest didn't care about her exhaustion, only the 2 hour time limit.

She tried to keep up her spirits, but Harry could tell she was flagging. "Hermione, you beat four quests in…38 minutes," he said, checking his watch. "I'll concede that you bested my record, and you can let me take the lead on this game. I can end it in three moves."

"I haven't won until I finish the quest," she protested, hopping onto a knight piece. "And I've still ten minutes left in my hour."

He frowned, and though he didn't suggest that she quit again, he kept a close eye on her during the game. He cast spells to soften her falls from the pieces, and at one point offered to cast a healing spell. She shook her head—her body healed itself—but her heart pounded at the fact that he cared.

A sneaky part of her brain, that she kept telling to shut up, suggested that maybe she ought to keep falling down. In all the romance novels she'd read, a damsel in distress always attracted the attention of the male lead, even the most aloof. Then again, what seemed romantic in books was usually annoying in real life, such as when Harry glued 44 bullies to the ceiling and released fake Eldritch horrors to "rescue" her.

Finally, at the end of the 7th quest, the two of them found the quest reward room. The doorway dipped downward, and Hermione—eager to be done—almost tripped over the threshold. Harry caught her, one arm around her waist.

"Thanks," she said, not turning to look at him, afraid he'd see her blush. Not that she needed to worry. The room was pitch black, and no lights revealed themselves even after the door closed behind them.

" _Lumos_ ," they both said.

Their wands revealed a small table in the middle of the room, and a clear glass orb resting on top.

Hermione reached out to touch it, and the room burst into light. She blinked as the brightness faded into a soft glow of thousands of stars, trembling specks in the silent darkness. It was so lifelike, she almost felt like they really stood within the vast void of space.

"Wow," she said softly. "I've never seen anything like it."

Harry didn't say anything. When she turned to see his face, she was shocked to find he seemed close to tears.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

He roused himself, shaking away the emotion. "I'm fine." He cleared his throat. "It's very pretty, isn't it?"

Hermione nodded. The way to finish the quest would be to take the orb and place it in one of the bags, but neither of them felt like it. They both slid down along one wall, sitting and contemplating the beauty in front of them.

"Did you know the planets have their own song?" said Harry softly. "NASA captured the electromagnetic radiation and radio waves of the planets, and converted them into sounds that we could hear. The music is both haunting and beautiful at the same time."

"I'd love to hear that someday," said Hermione.

They lapsed into silence again, and Hermione rested her head against the wall, her eyes drifting closed. Then, she had an idea. It was something she'd always wanted to do, and she didn't know if she'd ever have the chance again.

Gathering all of her courage, she leaned over and rested her head against Harry's shoulder.

He froze, she could feel it, and suddenly she worried maybe she'd gone too far. But it wasn't like friends never did this. So, stuttering out the words, she asked, "I'm really tired. Is it okay?"

He let out a breath and relaxed a bit. "Yes, it's okay." After a few moments, he asked, "Are you…umm…is it comfortable?"

She scooted just a little closer, so her head wasn't resting on shoulder bone. "Yes."

She'd thought it might make her nervous, being so close, but it was surprisingly comfortable. She focused on the rhythmic sound of his breathing, and her eyes closed. It was nice that for once she could lean on the person who was always there for her.

* * *

Hermione sighed and scooted back, then dropped her head onto Harry's shoulder.

He sat very still, confused and alarmed. This situation had happened to Harry exactly zero times, and he wasn't sure if something was expected of him. Was he supposed to put his arm around her? Pat her head? Ask her what's wrong? He thought this shouldn't be so confusing, but it was.

She stirred, and glanced up at him. "I'm really tired. Is it okay?"

"Yes, it's okay," said Harry, realizing that her asking helped clarify things. "Are you…umm…is it comfortable?"

"Yes," said Hermione softly, shifting into a new position.

Harry swallowed, willing away the small sense of discomfort at the sudden invasion of his personal space. He knew he would have been extremely uncomfortable if anyone else tried this, but if Hermione needed rest, he didn't mind being her pillow.

He shifted slightly, feeling her weight pressing against him. It was hard, for some reason, not to speak. Gazing above him, he focused instead on the stars. There were so many that the sky seemed almost foreign, the familiar constellations swallowed up by the sheer vastness of their competition. They were beautiful, though they paled in comparison to the memory of the first time he'd seen it with Professor Quirrell.

He knew his real name was David Monroe, but he would always be Professor Quirrell to Harry. He'd been Harry's mentor, and his friend, and pretty much the only person who had ever truly understood him. Harry's heart still ached at the loss, and sometimes he went over what he could have done to preserve him. A stasis charm, perhaps, or a deep freeze…

Hermione stirred a little, letting out a sigh, and he noticed that her breathing had deepened. She was asleep. He couldn't see her face, but he could feel her soft curls against his neck. Harry moved his arm to hold her around the waist, so she could rest a little more comfortably. Professor Quirrell might be gone, but Harry could still be there for the people who needed him. He liked knowing that Hermione trusted him to take care of her.

As the minutes passed, one thought kept running over and over in his mind. _Her hair smells really nice._

Harry frowned, resisting the strange temptation to press his nose into her curls. Could it be more unicorn magic? Few had the chance to study wild unicorns, but Harry suspected their magic ran counterpart to that of a Veela. It made Hermione beautiful, graceful, and gave her an air of purity, so perhaps it also made her smell amazing too. Then again, it _could_ just be her shampoo.

Dismissing the thought, Harry leaned his head back and closed his eyes. He hummed in his mind the song of the planets, soothed by their peaceful harmonies. He made a mental note to find a spell that could play any song he wanted.

After a while, Hermione stirred, lifting her head. "How long was I asleep?"

"Maybe half an hour," said Harry. "Do you feel better?"

"Yeah, I do." After a few moments, Harry realized his arm was still around her. He pulled away, crossing his hands around his knees.

They sat in silence, and Harry checked his watch. It was 10:30, though it felt later. The darkness was messing with his internal clock.

"Harry," said Hermione. "I was thinking. I know you said you don't want to date until you discover immortality, but…do you ever think about falling in love? I mean, what sort of girl would you want?"

"I haven't thought about it much," said Harry, which wasn't a lie, though he could admit to himself that his list of required traits classified him as picky. "In any case, I don't think I need a woman to be happy. Dating, romance, and all of that stuff seems unnecessary, especially for people like us."

Hermione blinked. "People like…us?"

"Yeah, just think about it. A house with a yard, a picket fence, two kids. Doesn't that seem boring to you? I know I would be driven to drinking if that's all I had in life, and I can't imagine you'd enjoy being a housewife either."

Hermione was quiet for a long moment. "No, I suppose not," she said softly, then shrugged. "Maybe you're right. I might be happier if I just focused on a career."

Harry felt he might have gone too far there. "Umm…I'm not saying you shouldn't have a romance if you want one. But there's a lot of people who achieved great things without it. Like Florence Nightingale, for example. Or Isaac Newton, and Nikola Tesla." Harry grimaced. "Though, I will ask, if I ever start obsessing over pigeons or anything, I'd like you to…you know…"

Hermione frowned. "A mercy killing?"

"No!" Harry burst out. "I meant put me to sleep in cryostasis until we find a cure for insanity. Geez, Hermione, anything before death. Everything else can be fixed."

Hermione's forehead wrinkled as she concentrated on her knees. "I'm not sure I agree with you there, Harry. There are things worse than death."

"Hermione…"

"Look, I know what you're going to say, but just hear me out." She let out a breath, gathering her knees to her chest. "This is how I think of it. Everybody dies, both good and bad people. If there is no afterlife, then I can't see a way to balance the equation."

"Balance the equation?" asked Harry.

She shrugged. "Yes, between good and evil. See, all of our lives, we're told that doing evil is wrong. It's not just because we'll be punished—which is what some behavioural scientists would claim is the reason—but because it will "weight the scales" in the wrong direction, turning us from good to bad. This fear is so ingrained in our minds that many people would choose to die—even to face punishment—rather than to violate their morals."

She glanced away from him, a faraway look in her eyes. "I don't know if there is an immortal soul, but I know everyone has an innate hope that there will be some reward for doing good. For choosing to do the right thing, even when it's hard. But if a hero sacrifices their life to save another, and ultimately has the same fate as Grindelwald, then all their good works were worthless. So, it makes me think…there must be something after death, beyond nothingness. A reward that makes all the suffering worth it."

When Harry could see she was finished explaining, he said, very gently, "I agree with how you feel, and I wish you were right. But everything I've seen tells me that life isn't fair. It's not merciful or just, and won't have a happy ending just because we want it to. Consider that, even after centuries of research, we can find no conclusive proof of life after death. The Department of Mysteries supposedly even has a portal to the afterlife, which they study as part of their research on Death. But as far as we know, they've found nothing. If they did, then wizards would have founded their own religion by now, as other sects have done for much less evidence.

"I'll admit, if I ever had the chance, I'd study the portal myself. If I found any proof, I would happily revise my beliefs. Until then, while believing in it is comforting, it's a fairytale. I know that my parents died fighting Voldemort. Professor Quirrell did too." His voice caught, sounding harsher than he expected. "They're all dead and gone. So, I can either believe a comforting lie, or I can stare death in the face and do something to change it." Harry shrugged. "I made my choice."

Hermione turned back to stare at the stars, and Harry noticed her troubled expression. "Are you upset?" he asked.

"No," said Hermione. "I'm scared."

"Why?"

She bit her lip, eyes blinking hard. "I think I might have to live for a very long time. I'm scared of who I might become, if I had to live in world that is so harsh and unfair."

"I think," said Harry slowly. "That whatever happens, you won't have to go through it alone. If you are immortal, then it stands to reason the one who made you so would be too. If It were me, then I know I wouldn't have gifted you with it without also doing the same for myself." If he'd been the one to do it, that is. "It's also possible that our families are immortal as well."

"Possible," said Hermione, her voice soft. "But not even remotely certain."

"Well, there's a lot of things about the letters that we can't be certain about. We don't know who sent them or if all the information is correct. I may not have discovered immortality at all, but…" He hated admitting that, it scared him. "Even so, I will figure it out someday. It's my destiny. Just like you, Hermione Granger, are going to save the world."

She smiled. "Harry, I have enough trouble with my own delusions of grandeur, I don't need you encouraging me."

"What delusions? You're awesome."

She laughed. "And you're sweet." Her laugh turned into a sigh. "You aren't making this easy for me, you know."

"What?"

The door opened, and Harry took that as a sign they were supposed to get out. He checked his watch.

"Looks like it's time to go," said Harry, standing. "Want to meet up after the…dance lesson?"

Hermione shook her head. "Maybe later. Here, you take the quest item this time."

Harry put the orb into his quest pouch, wondering if today she would eat lunch with him. Probably not. "I guess I'll see you Sunday."

* * *

Harry stood in front of the mirror, adjusting his dress robes.

"You're wearing the red tie?" asked Michael, confused. "You know most of them are Slytherin."

Harry glanced at his dormmate in the mirror. "True. But this would only concern me if I were trying to impress them."

This comment was met with a chorus of eye rolls. Harry didn't understand why everyone else took the Slug Club so seriously. It was just a chance for Slughorn to show off, disguised as a networking event.

Anthony Goldstein gave Harry a patient look. "You should take advantage of this opportunity. I mean, there's probably at least thirty students in our year who want to work at St. Mungos, and only one of them got picked to go to this dinner. And Slughorn knows _three_ hospital executives."

Michael nodded, sitting up on his bed. "He also knows several higher level executives within the ministry, ranking Aurors and charms masters. Anyone who has a smidge of ambition is dying to attend his meetings."

"I wasn't even invited," said Terry glumly. "Even after I scored an Outstanding on my potions exam. I got to attend one regular, boring meeting, and that was it."

"Same for me," said Anthony. "It's really hard to stay in the club. But I guess you don't have to worry about that, do you Harry?" His voice was bitter. "Since you're the Boy-Who-Lived and all."

Harry could hear the jealousy in his voice, and in the other boys' sullen silence.

"Listen," said Harry. "I'm not attending this meeting to make friends or strategic connections. I'm just thinking of it like a transaction. Professor Slughorn gets to show me off like a trophy for a few weeks, and in exchange I get access to a few secrets." Harry grimaced—saying it like that made him feel a little dirty. "As long as I smile pleasantly and don't say anything too insulting, I should be done with Slughorn by Christmas."

"But…" said Terry, confused. "Don't you have ambitions? There must be something you want to do after Hogwarts."

"Of course," said Harry. "I'm planning on taking over the world."

The best reaction he got was a condescending snort. He made this joke so often that it didn't even phase them anymore.

"Even if that were true, you would need connections," muttered Anthony.

The truth was, Harry didn't want anyone to know his real plans until he'd hammered out the details and was ready to set things in motion. It wasn't anything as complicated or bloody as staging a coup, but it was about as mentally taxing, and he knew he wouldn't be able to properly begin until after graduation. Still, if everything did go as planned, it would take the wizarding world by storm. One might even say he'd conquered it.

Harry left his dorm and headed towards the Slytherin dungeons. While Hogwarts regularly conjured empty classrooms, on occasion it created rooms that could only be described as regal. Professor Slughorn had reserved the one near the Slytherin dorms for his special meetings.

On the way, Harry stopped by the Beauxbatons common room to pick up Hermione.

They'd decided on Friday that they would go together. Neither of them wanted to go alone, and besides, what if there weren't assigned seats, and they got roped into sitting separately? It just made more sense to go together. It wasn't a date or anything.

Yet it was still awkward when Harry knocked on the Beauxbaton's door, and said, "Is Hermione here?"

The girl who answered raised an eyebrow and said, "She's still getting ready. Please come inside."

So Harry took a seat on the velvet couch beside another boy from Durmstrang dressed in brown robes. Harry clasped his hands, leaning forward on his knees. He could feel the eyes of every girl in the room watching them, like he was on display. He was just starting to wonder if he should get out a book when Hermione came down the stairs.

"Sorry for making you wait," she said, waving a hand at her hair. "It took a little longer than I expected."

Harry stood up, waiting until they'd left the room to speak his mind. "Really, Hermione, you didn't need to go to all the trouble. It's just Professor Slughorn."

She sighed. "Sometimes I like to get dressed up and look nice. It's not like I get the chance to do that very often."

Harry glanced sidelong at her blue dress and straightened hair, which she'd braided. There was nothing wrong with dressing up, even if it was for a Slughorn party, and he got the sense that he'd hurt her feelings. "You do look nice."

"Thank you," she said softly. "You…umm…you look nice too."

They made their way to the Regal Slytherin room. Harry opened the door for them and they stepped inside.

The room was lit by giant chandeliers, whose light glittered against the emerald backed chairs at the dining table. The shiny black grand piano played itself, the chatter of students and guests threaded through the music. Harry knew that Slughorn kept around fifteen students in his weekly group, and twice that number had already arrived. Some of them looked like people he'd seen in the Daily Prophet, though he couldn't recall any names.

Professor Slughorn, dressed in Slytherin green robes, broke from his conversation and came to greet them. "Welcome! I'm glad to see you both could make it. Dinner will be starting in a few minutes, and there's a few people I'd like you to meet first." He linked arms with them both, pulling them towards the group he'd just left. "Have you met Bertie Bott? One of my former students..."

For the next few minutes, Harry followed his plan of smiling and not saying anything too offensive. He'd never liked small talk, and he hated it even more when he was forced to participate. Hermione was managing to laugh at some terrible joke from Bertie Bott, and even came up with a charming response. He was slightly in awe of her performance.

Eventually, Professor Slughorn went off to greet someone else, and they made a beeline for the drinks table.

"I hope someone spiked the punch," said Harry, pouring two cups.

"Me too," said Hermione. "This is awful."

Harry nodded sympathetically, and looked for a quiet spot they could hide in until dinner started. The room was too small, though, and it wasn't like either of them could fade into the shadows for long. Harry watched Hermione tilt her head back to down the drink, a silver bracelet jangling on her wrist. Her blue dress complimented the glow of her skin, as well as the chestnut brown of her hair. She really did look quite lovely, and he wondered how much was natural to her, and how much was unicorn magic.

He swallowed, but his throat was dry. He took a sip of his drink.

The dinner bell rang, and both of them took a seat beside each other.

The meal was equal parts boring and stupid. He knew most of the students at this table already, and none of them had done anything particularly noteworthy. He didn't care if their parents had built a fruit snacks empire or been Quidditch champions. When it came time for his introduction, Harry just said, "My parents died because of Voldemort. I currently do my homework and perform science experiments. Nice to meet you." Slughorn frowned at this, but Harry could only restrain his sarcasm for so long.

Hermione had prepared a cute, sort of awkward story to explain what her parents did for a living, and Harry noticed Boris Krum chuckling at her. As the introductions continued, Boris never took his eyes off her. It unsettled Harry to the point that he whispered to Hermione, "Boris Krum keeps staring at you."

She blushed and answered, "Oh. Well, don't worry about it."

A few moments passed. "Is something going on between you two?"

"Well, he sort of…admitted he had a crush on me. But he agreed to be just friends."

In a flash of insight, the pieces came together. Harry kept his voice calm when he asked, "He's the one who was making suggestive comments to you?"

Hermione nodded.

"And when you said he was attempting to be my rival because his feelings were hurt?"

"He was jealous of you. I took care of it, so don't worry."

Harry looked at the Quidditch player, who licked a bit of gravy off his finger while looking at her.

 _What. The. Hell._ said Gryffindor.

 _Let's spit on him!_ cried Hufflepuff.

 _I have a better idea,_ suggested Slytherin. _How about we fake a doctor's report that says he's contracted Molluscum Contagiosum? We'll write that it gave him bumps all over his 'tiny sausage.'_

The main meal ended, and it was replaced with an ice cream sundae. Harry didn't bother to touch it, hot anger still coursing under his skin. Something Hermione said was still bugging him.

"You're friends with Boris?" asked Harry. "In what way exactly?"

"Well, more like acquaintances. I'm helping him study English on Saturday afternoons in my study group."

" _Every_ Saturday?" asked Harry.

Harry didn't know much about Boris Krum, but he did know that he wasn't there to study English. Harry gave Boris a Death Glare that he didn't see, because he was conversing with the person beside him, presumably in English.

Once the ice cream was finished, Professor Slughorn encouraged everyone to be social with one another over mugs of hot chocolate. One of his guests, a sixth year Ravenclaw, was cajoled into playing Christmas music on the piano, though it was still November. Once he started playing, Professor Slughorn came for Harry. "I've one more person for you to meet. He's a well-renowned artist from Glasgow, and he's been asking to speak with you."

Hermione shifted as if to stand, but Harry said, "Stay here, I'll be back in a minute." He didn't want to drag her to another of these awful meetings if he didn't have to.

"Greetings Harry," said the man, pumping his hand. "I'm part of the team for Associated Playwrights, and we've got a fascinating idea for a script. Tell me, how do you feel about Muggle soap operas?"

During this conversation, in which the playwright attempted to regale Harry with his artistic vision, Harry noticed that Boris had approached Hermione. They took seats together to watch the Ravenclaw pianist.

Harry watched their every movement, his eyes narrowing. He knew from duelling experience that Boris was a huge hot head, and yet he smiled gently at Hermione, pretending he was kind and cultured. He leaned over to say something, probably a random, boring fact about piano players, just to get into Hermione's personal space.

"And then after that,'" said the Playwright. "Time-displaced Harry falls in love with Tom Riddle, and they have to hide their relationship from Bellatrix. So after every meeting, the Obliviate each other, and all they can remember are the feelings. With me so far?"

"Yeah, sounds great," said Harry distractedly. "Wait…what?"

"Oh, but that's just the first draft!" interrupted Slughorn hastily. "Right, Peter?"

"Yes, of-of course," said the Playwright. "We're still looking for the right angle. I was thinking…"

Hermione laughed, and Harry's head whipped in her direction. Boris had his hand on her arm, whispering something in her ear, and she giggled again.

An awful, burning feeling twisted in Harry's heart. Hermione seemed comfortable in his presence, and it was like watching a rabbit playing with a snake. Everything Boris did was fake and calculated to lure her in.

"Excuse me," said Harry sharply, breaking away from the conversation. "I've got something to do."

He stormed over there, imagining how he would rescue her. He wanted to say, "Here, Hermione, let me deal with this wanker. He's stolen enough of your time." If Boris refused to back off, it would be within Harry's best friend rights to gouge his eyes out, but he would settle for clocking him in the nose. Sure, Hermione wouldn't like it, but she'd forgive him eventually.

A hand grasped his arm. "Harry, wait."

He turned to see Professor Slughorn, who gave him a strained smile and said with a fake lightness. "I believe that the stipulations of our agreement were that you would attend three of my meetings. During that time, I do expect you to refrain from jinxing anyone in the room. It would spoil the mood, you know."

Professor Slughorn had sweat on his forehead, and Harry could have sworn that the professor looked scared of him. "Of course not," said Harry, struggling to keep the anger from his voice. "I'm just…going to get some air. Excuse me."

Harry disappeared into the hallway, casting invisibility as he sank against the wall, struggling to calm himself. He knew that his anger was a defence mechanism, inherited from his cavemen ancestors' response to danger. Men needed a surge of adrenaline to fight against the attacking invaders to protect the tribe.

His hands shook, and he clenched them. Of course, this fight or flight reaction was less useful in modern times. Hermione wasn't in any real danger, since Boris would never succeed in seducing her. Besides, Hermione was more than capable of protecting herself. Even so, the thought of Boris being near her, and the anger it caused in Harry, wouldn't die down.

Harry trudged back into the room a few minutes later, feeling grumpy. To his relief, Hermione had freed herself from Boris and was talking to the piano player, but the Durmstrang boy hadn't strayed far. Blaise strode over to Harry's corner, sipping a mug of butterbeer.

"How are you enjoying the party?" he asked.

"About as much as I expected," replied Harry sullenly.

Blaise blinked. "Damn. You really do hate social events, don't you?" He glanced around to see who Harry was glaring at. "Did someone spit in your food or something?"

Harry very deliberately took a sip of his drink, refusing to respond.

"Well…cheer up," said Blaise. "At least you get a nice gift at the end of all this."

"Indeed." Harry folded his arms, his tone icy. "So, what did you get for informing Professor Slughorn on the details of my experiments?"

Blaise lifted his drink to his lips. "I did it as a favour to my head of house. Why would you think I need another reason?"

Harry nodded. He knew all about Slytherin plotting habits, such as trading favours like currency. Normally, he would enjoy getting involved with a plot, but he was too aggravated to indulge Blaise at the moment.

"Anyway," said Blaise. "I'm off to do some last minute networking. Maybe you could try leaving the corner next time, yeah?"

Blaise left, and Harry continued with his sulking.

The dinner wrapped up a short time later, and Harry walked back to the dorms with Hermione.

"The party wasn't great," she said, checking her sleeves for stains. "But it was a little more fun once Professor Slughorn stopped talking."

"Uh huh," said Harry. "I think you should be more careful around Boris. He's not trying to be your friend."

Hermione snorted. "Well, I don't intend to start hanging out with him or anything. But he wanted to talk, and I was just being polite."

"Well, don't be too polite," grumbled Harry. "You'll give him the wrong impression."

They'd reached the Beauxbatons doorway, and Hermione stopped and turned towards Harry, a peculiar expression on her face. "You're really upset about this, aren't you?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't trust him."

Hermione smiled and gave him a side hug. "You don't need to worry about me," she said. "But I appreciate it."


	22. Reign of Terror

Chapter 22: Reign of Terror

Harry sat in the Quidditch stadium, now occupied by contestants from the duelling club, confused as to why there were so many girls screaming.

This wasn't a normal occurrence. Most duelling matches gathered a handful of onlookers, and their biggest match in May could bring in around 75. But this year, the Durmstrang students had decided to compete, including Boris Krum. Hogwarts put up a good fight, but they were still getting their arse handed to them in every match.

Of course, if _Harry_ had been allowed to participate, it would have been a different story.

Hogwarts showed itself to be woefully underprepared in the art of Battle Magic, but perhaps this game would enlighten his team as to the importance of increased training. He could suffer through watching his school get crushed if it would lead to that. That still didn't explain the presence of the screaming girls, though.

They were down to the semi-finals, and only Cedric Diggory remained in the running. The rest were students from Durmstrang. In the next match, Cedric was scheduled to play against Boris, and Harry noticed in the stands that there was an ocean of little red flags with Boris's face. The expectant hum in the air finally broke in a wave of cheers and cries when he entered the arena.

Something whizzed past Harry's head, and he ducked as another shot came from nearby.

"Take my scrunchie!" cried one girl.

"No, take mine!" screamed another.

Harry grimaced. Not only had the female population of Hogwarts collectively lost their minds, they were also _ruining_ the duelling experience. The one silver lining to this was that if Krum was competing, then he wasn't at Hermione's Saturday study session.

Neville, who had been defeated in the first round, walked up the stairs to sit beside Harry. He hunched over like he was ill, his knees bouncing.

"Something really weird is happening," he said. "I feel like I'm going crazy."

"I know," groaned Harry, wincing as the girls beside him screamed. "This is mayhem. Quirrell must be rolling over in his grave."

"Not that," said Neville, his eyes darting about, as if scanning for an attack. "It's Daphne."

"What happened?"

"She came to me before the match, and she said, 'Good luck.' But it was in this really deep, scratchy voice, like straight out of the Exorcist. Then she looked up at me, jerking and blinking like she was expelling a demon. And that's not even the first time that's happened!" He rubbed his forehead. "I don't know, Harry, I think she must be playing a cruel trick on me, but before I can ask her, she always runs away. And now," he swallowed. "I'm really scared what will happen if I _do_ ask."

Harry shook his head. "I don't know. Conventional wisdom dictates that when a girl acts strange around a guy, you're supposed to assume she likes him. However, she _is_ a Slytherin, so the rules could be different."

"Exactly," said Neville. "Slytherins don't date Hufflepuffs, they mock them."

Boris Krum cast a fire spell that blasted apart the wall of dirt Cedric was using as a shield, and a wave of girls screamed. Boris rushed forward, pinning Cedric to the ground. They were wrestling, and punching, and the referee was blowing his whistle. But they weren't stopping.

"What's gotten into Cedric?" asked Harry, plugging his ears against the shrill screeching. "He's not normally so aggressive."

Then, as the referee charged towards them, Cedric mashed his face against Boris's, and the Durmstrang student grabbed Cedric and flipped him, aggressively kissing him as their wrestling became a lot more amorous.

The girls screamed and fainted, and the referee backed up, uncertain what to do.

Harry and Neville watched the entire affair like some horrible train wreck. They couldn't look away.

It had been weeks since he'd gotten stuck in that room with Neville and the twins, so long that he'd completely forgotten about their experiments. He'd expected the Weasleys' love potion to be a failure, or at the very worst, to cause a scattering of infatuated students. But in his wildest dreams, he'd never imagined _this_.

"Love potions," whispered Neville. "We're so dead."

"Just…don't panic," said Harry, his voice trembling at the unspeakable horror of what they had brought into being. "Keep your antidote with you at all times. I'll find a way to fix this."

* * *

Ever since grade school, Tyler Green had been popular with the ladies. In his first year of Primary, he'd had two girls who called him their "boyfriend" even before he knew what that was. In year 4, a group of 3rd year girls found him during lunch and sang a full chorus of "All I Want for Christmas is Tyler."

Tyler never really understood their interest in him. When he looked in the mirror, he saw an average kid with average looks. He didn't even have anything cool, like a scar or a dirt bike. He certainly didn't have the charm needed to impress older girls. When he was 8, he had a crush on a dark haired girl who was several years older, but only got to sneak looks at her during lunch and carpool. During his last year in Primary, he would hang out on the playground with the older girls, where they would pat his head and call him "cute," but date secondary school boys.

Somehow this pattern had followed him into Hogwarts as well. Every time he walked into the Great Hall for meals, the 1st and 2nd years would squeal and giggle to each other, blushing over their hands while sneaking looks at him. He was a 2nd year now, so he would plunk down with the 4th years and try to pretend he was older than he was.

But when he woke up Sunday morning, his neck felt stiff. He checked under his pillow, and found two boxes of chocolates. In the hallway, three girls passed him cupcakes, and then waited for him to eat them. To be polite, he tasted them and then saved the rest for later.

As he sat down to breakfast, he noticed something strange. A lot of students were holding hands, and kissing, and not just at the Gryffindor table, either. Even _Hufflepuffs_ were doing it. With _Slytherins_.

"What's going on?" he asked his 4th year classmates.

The boy beside him whispered, "Keep your wits about you, little guy. The love bug's going around, and everyone who's not infected is pretending to be."

One of the girls, who hadn't touched her food, said, "I can't believe you guys are so okay with this."

"Ehh," said the boy, shrugging as he dug in. "It happens every few years. Never this bad, though."

Tyler looked down at his plate of food, and then back at his muffins. His stomach felt queasy, like it was getting pulled in five different directions. "Umm…I gotta go."

He knew he needed to go find help, but he was too embarrassed to find a teacher, and too scared to owl his parents. He knew enough about love potions to know they didn't last more than 48 hours, so he decided to go to his dorm and sleep it off.

And then, on the way there, he saw her. The prettiest, strongest, most inspiring girl in the entire school. He could barely get up the nerve to talk to her most days—giving her that chocolate a few months ago had taken all his willpower. But as he passed by, she smiled at him, and his resolve to bear his mortifying condition alone collapsed. "Please, Miss Hermione," he said, "Can you help me?"

* * *

Minerva sat in her office, flinching when another owl appeared to dump a letter onto her desk.

The pile was monstrously high already, and that could only mean one thing. She was about to have a terrible week.

Minerva sighed, and opened the first letter.

" _Headmistress McGonagall,_

 _We were shocked to hear that you will be hosting a Yule Ball at Hogwarts on December 25_ _th_ _. Respectfully, we beg you to reconsider. Our family always visits our relatives in Norway for the holidays, and our Hannah will be missed terribly if she is not there to greet everyone. Please consider moving it to a time when school is normally in session, otherwise our daughter cannot attend. Respectfully, Mark and Tina Abbot."_

Minerva could feel the headache already. She opened another letter.

" _Headmistress McGonagall,_

 _Our son has informed us that not only are you hosting a Yule Ball during winter vacation, but there are also love potions in Hogwarts. This is an outrage. We simply cannot have that influencing our son's choice in a dance partner. Not to mention, our daughter says she's scared to eat the food in the Great Hall. Until you resolve this issue, they will not be attending school. Sincerely, Martin Finch-Fletchley."_

A third letter was opened, reluctantly.

" _Headmistress, my 1_ _st_ _year daughter is writing to me about her infatuation with a Beauxbatons student who is 17 years old! This is unacceptable! You must keep a better check on your students, I don't want her fraternizing with a boy who is almost twice her age! Also, she informs me that people are kissing during class all the time! What kind of school are you even running? Sincerely, Patricia Binns."_

Minerva set aside the rest of the letters, after a brief glance assured her that most of them were pretty much the same issue. She couldn't do anything about disgruntled parents, but she could solve the real problem in Hogwarts.

In Minerva's opinion, love potions were a terrible, foul thing that should never have been called into existence. Every few years or so, however, someone would bring a stash of them into Hogwarts, and the drug would run rampant for about a week until the professors rooted out the offending supplier and doled out a suitable punishment. Love potions were expensive and rare, so it was never more than a few affected at a time. But in this infestation, the students had gotten hold of an _insane_ amount of love potions. Every class period the professors confiscated a stash, but then three times the amount would appear the next day.

She needed to find the culprit, and fast. Fortunately, that part of the problem had already been resolved. She'd collected enough evidence in the last few days, including a few stashes of potions and numerous signed documents, that it was obvious who was responsible.

Someone knocked on her door, and she waved it open. Inside trudged two redheaded Gryffindors and one dark haired Ravenclaw.

Minerva did not offer them a seat. Instead, she fixed them with her Stony Glare and said, "I trust you know why I called you to my office?"

The Weasley twins nodded. Harry opened his mouth to say something, then closed it. He stood silently for a moment.

"Why was I called in, Headmistress?" he asked, finally.

Minerva pointed to the stack of letters of her desk. "These are from the parents. They are concerned, scared, and want to know who is responsible for the chaos at Hogwarts. How do you think they'll respond if I tell them that the Boy-Who-Lived dosed their children with love potions?"

"I—I can explain everything—" started Harry.

Minerva shook her head. "I don't want an explanation, Mr. Potter. I know that you three were involved in the production and distribution of love potions, and that you even signed a contract to this effect. To be honest, even if you did explain, it wouldn't make a difference, since I will not be determining your punishment."

Minerva had already sent the signal, and precisely on schedule, Mad Eye Moody appeared in the room. He cracked his knuckles, glaring with manic glee at the three boys. "Well, well, well," he said. "You boys really screwed up this time, didn't you?"

"Headmistress!" cried Harry. "Really, you don't know the entire explanation!"

The Weasley twins shook their heads, but didn't say anything. Like true Gryffindors, they knew when they screwed up, and they were prepared to take their lumps. Harry also knew he screwed up, but he was a Ravenclaw, so he was trying to talk his way out of it.

Minerva stood up, crossing behind her desk towards the door. "Please take care of them, Mad Eye. Show them what happens to Dark Wizards when the Aurors get a hold of them."

His smile widened. "Gladly. It's been a while since I got to use my favourite dark curses," he said, his wand trained on the boys.

Minerva knew he wouldn't go that far. Mad Eye had a code about seriously harming anyone who was still a Hogwarts student. It was one of the few restrictions he placed on himself, otherwise she never would have agreed to this. But the boys had shown flagrant disregard for authority, and that needed to be rectified, while she still had time. Minerva turned to Mad Eye, her expression bored, "All I ask is that you don't leave a mess." She refused to turn to look at the boys, even as Harry looked at her pleadingly, his fists tightened and shaking.

She left the room, and went to go get some tea, trying not to think about what was happening in her office.

* * *

Romilda Vane was on her way to the Gryffindor common room when she stopped, turning her nose up to the air.

Something _interesting_ was about to happen.

Scanning the hallway, she ducked into an empty alcove and cast the invisibility charm. Examining her hands, she frowned at the slight shimmer. She'd practiced the charm for months, but it still kept glitching out on her. She needed to hurry up and become an Animagus, something small and innocuous like a bug. She hoped to do it in a way that wouldn't lead to a trip to Azkaban.

A few moments later, she heard footfalls running down the hall. There was a red flash, and a girl shrieked and fell to the ground inches from the alcove. The girl—a 3rd year Ravenclaw—scrambled for her wand before it flew out of her hand.

"How cute," said Ginny, appearing around the corner, her wand trained on the girl. "You thought you actually stood a chance against me."

Romilda knew that Ginny got spitefully mean when she was angry, but right now she looked cool and collected, like she hexed girls in hallways every day. Which…wasn't far off the mark, though she had loosened up recently. The Ravenclaw was shaking as she burst out, "Why are you doing this? I didn't hurt you!"

Ginny smiled, her voice bright with deadly sweetness. "No, not me. You humiliated two people—my boyfriend among them—just so you could live out some childish fantasy. Your second crime was to use a love potion to steal one of my friend's dates to the Yule ball. Did you think I would just let you get away with that?"

"You're not a queen!" cried the girl. "And Boris Krum isn't your boyfriend!"

Ginny still smiled, but the sweetness was gone from her voice, "Well, my dear, you're wrong. And after I'm done with you, your date won't even be able to look at you without retching."

The girl screamed and pleaded-but it fell on deaf ears. When Ginny had finished with her unique cocktail of hexes, the girl covered her face and ran away sobbing. She would go to Madam Pomfrey, but she wouldn't dare mention Ginny's name. No one ever did.

With a smug smile, Ginny put away her wand.

"Why, Ginny Weasley, I must say, that was quite a spectacle. I haven't seen someone cast the Burning Tuber hex since the first half of this century."

Ginny whirled around, hands behind her back, as if she could hide what she did. "Professor Slughorn! I can explain…"

"Oh, I already heard everything," said the Professor, and Romilda had to lean out to see him near the corner, hands in his pockets as he casually strolled closer. "The recovery time for those hexes is quite long—I do believe that even Madam Pomfrey can't improve her chances of attending the Yule Ball this year."

Ginny's face burned almost as bright as her hair, and she stared down at her feet. Romilda held her breath—this could very well be Ginny's last day at Hogwarts.

The Professor took his hands from his pockets, folding his arms. "I've a question for you, Miss Weasley. What are you doing this evening?"

* * *

Hermione wasn't angry at Harry. She couldn't be, not after how terrible he looked when he picked her up that evening. His face was drawn, and his eyes were empty, like he'd gotten his soul sucked out of him. He didn't say a word during the long walk to Slughorn's party.

The love potion debacle was stupid, and she couldn't believe he'd gotten himself involved in that, but she'd honestly never seen him look this upset. It was a little scary.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

He shrugged. "I've been through worse. I don't really want to talk about it, though."

Hermione fidgeted. She didn't like not talking about it, because that meant it wasn't fixed. Hermione didn't know what to do besides suggesting, "Well, if you change your mind, let me know." They walked a few more steps. "Can I at least give you a hug, or something?"

She opened her arms a little, expecting him to begrudgingly accept, but he kept on walking.

"What I really want is to skip this party," he sighed. "But I don't have much choice in that matter."

She lowered her arms. "Well, umm…we don't have to go tonight. There's another party next week."

He shook his head. "I just need to get this over with. Besides, if I miss the party, Slughorn might try to rope me into doing something extra to make up for it."

Hermione considered this, but that logic was weak. "I'll just tell him you're not feeling well. I'm sure he'll understand."

"Don't worry about it. Besides, we're already here."

Hermione didn't know why Harry was being so stubborn, but he was obviously done talking about it. He opened the door and Hermione entered behind him. Like the previous evening, Slughorn came to greet them.

"Good evening, young scholars! As the Weasley twins have spread their remarkably effective love potion around the castle, would you care to accept some antidotes? Take as many as you'd like, and then please try our delicious Bulgarian Pumpkin Banitza."

Hermione took a few, surprised they were still hosting the party this week. Everyone at Hogwarts was love mad, though she suspected 80% of it was self-inflicted. She knew couples who dosed each other, and plenty of others who complained loudly about not wanting to get dosed, while staring at their crushes.

She still couldn't believe how stupid this whole thing was. Why would you want to feel love if it wasn't real?

Everyone was acting normal now, though. In fact, there were even more people than last time, including adults. The room was festively decorated with Christmas lights and a giant tree heavy with glittering ornaments. Light Christmas music played in the background, and Hermione wondered if he was going to this much trouble for a dinner, the much-anticipated Christmas party must be something else entirely.

"I'm going to get some eggnog," said Hermione, turning to Harry. He nodded, but his gaze was fixed on something else in the room. Hermione glanced around, but she couldn't tell what he was staring at.

Shrugging, she went to the drinks table. A girl with red hair—Ginny, she remembered—was pouring herself a drink. She turned, gave Hermione a once over, and then moved out of the way. Hermione went to get her drink, feeling awkward since Ginny was still standing there, sipping her eggnog.

"Hermione Granger, right?" She lifted her chin, flipped her hair over her shoulder. "I'm Ginny Weasley. It's nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you, too," replied Hermione warily. She sensed some kind of power play was going on here, and unlike Harry, the whole plotting against classmates thing made her extremely uncomfortable. Not to mention, Ginny was basically a younger version of the girls at Beauxbatons she tried to avoid.

Ginny leaned against the table, observing the room. She wore a halter top yellow dress, her hair curled in a way that made her look cute. It contrasted oddly with her make up and the cut of her dress, like a pre-teen trying to sneak into a club. "So, Hermione, I noticed you came with Harry Potter." She bit her lip, studying him. "He's looking a bit under the weather today."

"Well," Hermione shrugged. "He had a hard day."

Ginny took a sip of her eggnog. "Well, in my experience, the best way to cheer him up is to pull him into an empty classroom for a good snog." She looked back at her Hermione over her shoulder. "Never dated a boy who didn't love it."

Hermione's jaw dropped. "But…we're not…we're not dating."

Ginny shrugged. "He still might like it. Boys are simple like that. Anyway, why aren't you dating?"

Hermione blushed, and said in an undertone. "Well, that's not really your business, is it?"

Ginny set down her glass on the table. "Sorry, didn't know it was so personal. I just assumed because, well, you're always together. Do you like someone else?"

Hermione met Ginny's intense gaze, and for the briefest second she wondered if Ginny was interested in _her_. A handful of girls had already asked Hermione to the Yule Ball, and while she didn't judge, it still felt a little weird. "Umm…I'm interested in being single?"

Ginny raised an eyebrow. "Really? Even if, oh, say a handsome Quidditch player were to ask you out?"

Hermione glanced over at Boris Krum, the Quidditch player she was obviously referring to. She remembered seeing the two of them come in together, and everything clicked into place. "Wait. Are you dating Boris?"

"Yes, and it's serious," she said smugly. "Still, I've heard rumours about you and him, so I figured I'd let you know how things are. If you approach him, flirt with him, sneak off into empty classrooms, etc., then I'll hex you into next Wednesday. Got it?"

Ginny didn't sound angry, but there was just the hint of steel in her voice that let Hermione know she wasn't kidding. Hermione nodded, feeling a bit miffed at this 4th year trying to boss her around.

"Good," said Ginny, her voice cheerful. "I don't have any reason to dislike you, and I don't want there to be one." Ginny picked up her drink, refilled it, and walked off to join her date.

The dinner bell rang, and Hermione joined Harry at the table. While both of them picked at their meals, Hermione kept getting distracted by Ginny. She leaned over into Boris, squeezing his arm, grinning suggestively. It was like she was putting up a huge blinking sign that they were dating. Boris, for his part, seemed to be enjoying the attention, responding to her advances with enthusiasm.

Hermione frowned. She hadn't mentioned this to Harry, but Boris still flirted with her. It was subtle, and possibly unintentional, but she noticed. Sometimes he would stay late for "extra help" practicing English, but he was really just talking to her. It was a little flattering, but even so, she was hoping that would change now that he'd started dating Ginny.

But as time went on, their over-the-top cuteness became annoying. Hermione sat across from them, so every time she looked up, there was Ginny, making stupid cute faces and giggling. Just rubbing in the fact that they were so happy. If Hermione had a boyfriend, she wouldn't do that, it was so disrespectful to single people. Or…maybe she _would_ , just to get back at all the couples.

"It's ridiculous, isn't it?" said Hermione to Harry, as soon as dinner was over. "She was all over him. I thought they were going to start making out over dessert."

Harry shrugged, rubbing his finger against his knuckles.

"It won't last," said Hermione. "They're way too much alike to be a good couple."

"Why do you care?" asked Harry. "You're not jealous, are you?"

"Of course not," huffed Hermione. "Just…concerned. And irritated."

Harry looked uncomfortable, and didn't say much for the rest of the evening.

A few minutes later, Harry got dragged off by Slughorn, and Hermione was alone. She was looking around to see if anyone else she knew was nearby, when she felt someone approach from behind, the scent of mint on his breath.

"Miss Granger," said the voice, the tone genial but intense. "Do you mind if we chat a moment?"

Hermione turned to see the Minister of Magic, his perfect smile stretched across his face. She'd only ever seen Minister Fudge once, at the funeral of an Auror. He'd spoken to her at the reception, and he'd complimented her so much that it made her nervous, searching for a retreat. She wasn't looking forward to a repeat performance, but what could she do? She put on her Celebrity Smile, bowing her head slightly. "Hello, Minister. Nice to see you again."

After they'd chatted for several minutes, he asked a question that she didn't expect. "Can you leave your schedule open this weekend? There's something I'd like to show you."

"What is it?" asked Hermione, heart already sinking at yet _another_ task being forced onto her plate.

The Minister of Magic grinned, patting her shoulder. "Patience, dear child! It is a surprise."

* * *

 _Bulgaria, December 12th, 1995_

A pale moon was rising as Draco stepped into the warehouse, a powerful glamour hiding his true face. It was not Polyjuice—he still looked like himself in the mirror—but no one else would recognize him. The words to the spell were not even Latin based, but something older that the Priestess drew from her great quantity of magical lore.

Even so, with his identity hidden, he shook with nervousness.

At this late hour on a weekday, the room was already brimming with people. They'd gathered in from several countries, drawn in by contempt with the way things were, whispers of change, and a portkey slipped in over dinner.

They came to hear him speak. Draco, the Revolutionary.

They didn't know him as Draco, though. To them, he was a British boy who was fed up with the system. He was a Muggle, he was a Pure-Blood, he was whatever he claimed to be. And he had a plan to change things.

 _The movement is growing,_ the Priestess had explained. _But we need fuel for the fire, and I need you to give it to them, Draco._

Draco clenched his shaking hands, shouldering his way through the crowd of people, stepping onto the transfigured wooden platform.

Noticing him, everyone got quiet. _Calm down, breathe,_ he thought. _You can do this. For Dad. For Mum._

As he stared at the waiting crowd, the fire of righteousness flamed within him, banishing his nerves. He was a Malfoy, and they had nothing if not a way with words.

Draco pressed his wand against his chin and amplified his voice, speaking to the crowded room. "Good evening, everyone. I have called you here today to talk about the future. I want to prepare you for what will happen, and give you the chance to do something to change it."

His voice carried over the crowd. "Ladies and gentlemen, dark days are ahead of us. The seers have spoken many prophecies, so numerous that perhaps you have heard one yourself, and all of them point to trouble in the coming years. They speak of war. They speak of the fading of magic. Some even say it will be the end of the world."

He heard the shifting of feet, the grumbles of nervousness from the audience. "I know that's difficult to hear, but it is true. I know, because I witnessed a prophecy first hand." He paused, moving across the platform. "You have heard of the Dark Lord Voldemort. He was an evil man, his works cruel and diabolical, but even _he_ was afraid of what was coming. He brought the full force of his Death Eaters to stop it, and his people were massacred down to the last man. One of his dead followers visited to warn me of our future, and he told me something else as well.

"You have heard of Dumbledore, the powerful wizard who defeated Grindelwald, and his untimely disappearance. The truth is that he also fought to stop the enemy, and he was obliterated. Listen to my words: the two most powerful wizards in Britain, mortal enemies to the end, joined together to prevent the end of the world. And they failed! The cause of our doom still lives, and he is protected by the British Ministry."

Draco heard scoffs from the audience, a few mumbled curse words. "Yes," said Draco, his voice echoing their own scorn. "The same Ministry that holds themselves above the rest, that still maintains a backwards Pure-blood system that marginalizes the poor and the Muggleborn. The same one that scorns those who are afflicted by incurable magical conditions, instead of finding ways to treat them, or even accepting them."

A few people shouted their agreement, and Draco's voice rose. "The British Ministry has, for too long, tried to manipulate the situation. They've hidden secrets that should be made known, locked away powerful magic from the rest of the world. And now, the latest prophecies suggest that they hold the key to our salvation. Will they give it to us? Of course not! They do not even see the encroaching darkness as a threat! We must take what we need, no matter what the cost!"

Several people cheered, and Draco moved towards the crowd. "Who will join me? Who will take the reigns of fate from those who would destroy us, and place it in your own hands?" His voice rose to a shout. "Who will join me in fighting back against the destruction of the world!"

A chorus of angry shouts rose up to answer him.

From amidst the throng, one man held up his hand. "You there! Boy. How will you protect us from being destroyed as well, like Voldemort and Dumbledore? Why should we help you?"

Draco paused, then took a small pendant from under his shirt. From within it, he withdrew a small object, whispering a few words that released an instantaneous flash of magic. It burned bright, like a miniature sun had just exploded in his hands.

The crowd gasped, and several shielded their eyes. Raising the enchanted object for them to see, he said, "This is a small portion of the power you will be given. It is greater than anything Dumbledore could even imagine. And it is enough to save the world."


	23. Collido

Chapter 23: Collido

The sky was grey and dull, and the _Thermos_ spell was beginning to wear off as Harry huddled at his lab table in front of a decaying book. He'd set himself to the mind-numbing task of translating a spell book from Latin to English (or at least the spell titles), but he wasn't feeling well, and was starting to wish he'd just taken a nap instead. He turned the page, and raised his eyebrows.

"Expotentia Imperium…Spell of Power?" Harry read through the description, but it was annoyingly vague about what the spell was supposed to do. Harry double checked the directions, practicing the wand movements. It looked simple enough, and unlike other spells in this book, it didn't have any "this might explode" warnings.

Harry rapped his fingers against the desk, debating. With the begrudging permission of the Headmistress, he'd had his private lab warded for practicing spell casting. The protections allowed him a measure of safety when doing magical research, but they wouldn't protect him from blowing his head off if he wasn't careful. Then again, testing out random spells with next to no precautions seemed to work for the Weasleys.

Well…he wouldn't be _that_ reckless.

Harry pulled out a bottle from his spell testing kit and placed a small piece of charmed cork inside. If he made a mistake in his spellcasting, the cork would soak up the energy and trap it, discharging it harmlessly over time. This was standard procedure for testing, though technically, he was skipping a few steps. Like priming the cork with a potion that took hours to prepare, and soaking the bottle overnight, and parsing out each word of the spell and repeating it over and over before picking up his wand.

Then, in a fit of 'I don't even care, what's the worst that could happen?' Harry stood up, flicked his wand, and pointed into the mouth of the bottle. " _Potestas Imprimas_!"

He waited. Nothing happened. Harry tried again, and still…nothing.

Harry suddenly felt a surge of anger, and he set down his wand before he could accidentally snap it.

He shouldn't even be surprised. This just seemed to be his fate in life, to try and fail. It had happened last week with the 20th explosion of his transfigured rocket. He'd used the _Dongurami_ spell, which seemed to work by creating a seal around an object to protect it. Harry had reasoned, based on the type of spell he was dealing with, that it actually cemented magical energy, creating a barrier from the outside world and encasing the magic within.

If there was something in the upper atmosphere that triggered a breakdown in magic, he theorized that it might be possible to circumvent that using a seal around the rocket, essentially forcing the transfigured magic to remain inside. Furthermore, in a capsule on his rocket, he'd a had a second payload, which was also encased within the spell, and then a third and a fourth inside that, like a Russian nesting doll. If even one of those survived the launch, then he might have something he could work with.

But, _of course_ , as Harry's scrying spell showed him, the entire thing de-transfigured at the exact same time, payload and all, and promptly exploded. Later that day, to add insult to injury, his closet started spewing toxic acid fumes. He'd stabilized and cleaned it as best he could, but it infuriated him that he was still cleaning up the mess from that stupid jinx.

At any rate, it looked like his closet of potion ingredients would soon be monetarily useless. He and the Weasleys were very close to a falling out. He'd thought that after Mad Eye's punishment, the twins would be done with love potions. Instead, they'd continued selling them anyone willing to pay. Their excuse was that they still had "too much inventory" and they needed to sell it before it "went bad."

Harry had patiently explained a more sensible solution, which would be to sell their extra stock to another store, like Zonkos. They'd balked at the idea, claiming that they couldn't allow third parties access to their "secret formula." Which was just stupid, because there were such things as patents and property rights even within the wizarding world.

If they insisted on their reckless behaviour, Harry had warned, he would have to dissolve their partnership. They would no longer have access to his supplies, and they would need to pay back his investments. Harry was thankful he'd insisted on getting everything in writing, but he wasn't happy he was about to lose his primary means of earning money.

 _Well, that's okay, we've got tons of better ideas,_ said Slytherin, as Harry crossed the room to his bookcase. _For example, how about a book deal? Gilderoy Lockhart made a fortune on in his series of biographies, I'm sure the Boy-Who-Lived has enough clout to make at least half as much. It doesn't even have to be good writing, just slap your name on it and get Slughorn to promote it._

As Harry shoved his spellbook onto the shelf, a stack of papers fell off and scattered to the floor. With a sigh of irritation, he bent down and gathered them up. A few weeks ago, he'd written down some notes on a new, exciting experiment idea that he'd wanted to share with Hermione. He'd placed them on top of his bookshelf on purpose, ready and waiting for Hermione to pass by, pick them up, and ask him what they were about. They'd been sitting there untouched for almost a month, until he'd knocked them down.

 _Harry? About that book deal—_

 _You know what, Slytherin? Shut up._

Harry threw the papers on his worktable and stormed out of the room, back into the main classroom used by the Bayesian Conspiracy. Dean, Padma and Seamus were reading some books from his not-private library, seated in a circle on the floor on transfigured pillows. For some reason, that made him even more annoyed.

"Harry, I've got a question…" said Seamus, before he glanced at Harry's face and froze, his words trailing off. "Are you alright?"

"No," said Harry, who couldn't keep the venom from seeping into his voice. "Cease talking to me."

Harry left, went up to his room, and hid in his trunk. Shivering with the cold and possibly a fever, he bundled under some blankets and tried taking a nap on his cot, but he tossed and turned. Finally, he pulled out his Auror mirror and stared at it. He'd messaged Hermione a few times over the past week, but she sent very short replies. She rarely picked up his calls.

In his mind, he saw her beside him, sitting on the bed, legs curled under her. If she were here, he would tell her about his rocket exploding and his friendship with the Weasleys imploding, and complain about feeling sick and miserable. She would listen, offer him some helpful advice, and maybe even give him a hug. Then, after teasing him a bit for being such a wimp over a cold, she would conjure up some chicken soup and stay with him until he fell asleep.

Harry's mind refocused on the present, and he saw his reflection frowning at his mirror. Maybe this time, if he called her, she would answer.

 _Attention, everyone, the 76_ _th_ _convocation of Harry's inner voices is now in session,_ said Ravenclaw. _We're here to discuss whether or not he should call Hermione._

 _God, do we really have to do this again?_ groaned Gryffindor. _Just call her, stop being a weenie._

 _Actually, according to my cost-benefit analysis, that might be a mistake,_ said Slytherin. _On the one hand, she might deign to talk to us, give us something like, "Oh sorry, I've been so busy, I'll call you when I get the chance."_ The voice came out falsetto. _But there's an even greater likelihood that she'll just ignore us again, and last time we got so angry we almost smashed our very expensive Auror mirror._

 _Umm…_ said Ravenclaw. _At some point, we might want to have a special session about our rage problem._

 _Argh, who cares!_ cried Hufflepuff. _You realize that we only have half a year left with her? And I'm spending it talking to you losers! Gimme me that mirror!_

 _Exactly!_ declared Gryffindor. _And if calling doesn't work, just send over the Patronus. I don't care if she gets mad. Maybe I WANT her to be mad._

 _None of you are helping,_ sighed Ravenclaw. _I swear, I should just host meetings by myself._

 _Does she hate me?_ whispered Hufflepuff. _She said once that we were "too chaotic and evil and stuff." What if she's just done with me? She's probably been ghosting me this whole time!_

The thought made Harry freeze in place.

 _Alright, don't panic,_ said Gryffindor _. Let's just call her and politely ask her if she hates Harry, so we can decide if we need to find the closest bridge to jump off of._

 _Option 2, or the Rational Solution,_ prompted Slytherin. _We cut her off. I, for one, have a lot of big plans in motion right now, and I don't need this drama in my life._

 _That settles it!_ declared Ravenclaw. _As the only sane member, I've decided you're all banned from Harry's decision making processes until you stop sounding like a bunch of loonies._

Harry's Auror mirror flashed, and Hermione's face appeared. "Harry? Are you there?"

He jumped, the mirror slipping through his fingers. Harry lunged forwards, catching it between his palms before it hit the ground. Sighing in relief, he turned it so she could see him. "I'm here! What is it?"

Hermione brushed a stray piece of hair behind her ear. "I know we haven't talked much lately, so I don't know if you're still interested in doing the quest, but I really hope you'll join me."

"Quest?" said Harry. "What quest?"

She blinked. "You didn't sense it?"

Harry opened his senses to the wards of Hogwarts, and there it was, a bright, shiny new quest. He'd been so caught up in his moping that he hadn't realized.

He caught up to what she was saying, "You want me to come with you?"

She shrugged, the motion awkward and hesitant. "If you're not busy. I was going to call and make plans anyway, but then this came up. I know you like the quests, so I thought you might want to…but then after what happened with the Weasleys I wasn't sure…anyway, we don't have to do the quest, but I want to see you."

Harry leaned back against the wall, his heart pounding as her words frazzled his brain.

"Meet you at the quest door?" she said.

"Yes…uhh…be right there!" he said.

He leapt off the floor and went to where the magic called him.

* * *

Harry, in his haste, got to the quest door before she did.

The chosen location was an old, rarely used hallway in the upper reaches of the castle. As usual, the place was deserted, and the wind rattled through the windows like they weren't even there. Harry coughed into his sleeve and searched in his pouch for a warming charm. He applied the patch to his robes, feeling the warmth suffuse them, but then wished he had a second one for Hermione.

Harry rubbed his hands, trying to plan out exactly what he would say to her when they met. Even if she didn't _hate_ him, he still felt anxious, like he had to prove his worth as a friend to her.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he heard the echo of a chanted spell. The words had the familiar cadence of Hermione's voice, and it sounded almost like a melody. He heard it from time to time, especially when he felt upset or stressed. Then every time, without fail, he would feel a warm, pure energy settling in his chest—as if her magic were intertwining with his own. It was strangely comforting, but raised the question as to how and why it kept happening.

One option was that Harry had an overactive imagination, which was…not entirely unlikely. Even so, Harry wondered if, in one of his Obliviated memories, he and Hermione had cast a binding ritual on each other. It would explain that strong feeling of kinship, almost of obligation he felt to protecting her, as that was one possible result of a ritual bond. It also would explain why he often could feel her magic, as if it really had joined with his.

Bonding rituals usually required a huge sacrifice, and were difficult to perform correctly, so he didn't understand why they'd ever take that risk. And yet, every time he felt that magic, he became more convinced that's what it was. He'd have to ask Hermione about it at some point, when they were talking to each other more than once a fortnight.

A few moments later, Hermione rounded the corner to the hallway, her steps light but slow. Harry gazed at her, his heart stirring with concern. There were dark circles under her eyes, which were glazed over as if she hadn't slept in days. It was like her spirit was exhausted—or her brain, he supposed—and her body couldn't keep up.

"Harry," she said, smiling gently. "It's good to see you."

"Hi," said Harry, fielding a thousand questions, before asking simply. "How've you been?"

She shrugged. "Very busy. And…" She trailed off, then shook her head. "Just trying to keep up with everything. Are you feeling well? Your voice is raspy."

"I'm fine." Harry watched her raise her wand to open the quest door. "Are you sure _you're_ okay?"

"Yes." She smiled at him again. "Let's play this game. I'm curious what the quest gods have in store for us."

The door opened and she passed through, Harry shuffling in behind her.

It was a long, slow walk down the dark corridor. The cavernous wall dripped with wetness, gathering in pools on the muddy ground, and the air was cool and damp. Hermione shivered, and Harry, without thinking about it, took off his warming charm and gave it to her.

"Oh…" she said. "I don't need it. I can't get sick, and you've been coughing, so you should keep it."

Harry didn't want to, but he clipped it back onto his robes. She cast a warming charm on herself, which in this damp environment would only last about five minutes, and they walked on.

When they got to the quest door, they found it was enormous, as if built for giants. In the dimly lit room, Harry couldn't even see the top. Along the sides were two ladders built into the walls, indicating they should climb up to unlock the door. "Well then," said Hermione, squaring her shoulders. "You take one side and I'll take the other?"

Harry grinned—he knew he should warn her, but it was just too tempting. "I've got a better idea," he said. Slipping one arm around her waist, he launched them into the air.

She gasped and clutched at his robes. "You can fly?" she asked, disbelieving. "How?"

"Broomstick enchantments on my bones," he said casually. They neared the top of the archway, and Harry slowed to a hover. Hermione still clung to him, staring into his shoulder to avoid looking down. "Are you scared?"

"You know I hate flying," said Hermione, her voice tight from strain. "Even though I know I won't die if I fall, it's just…I can't help it."

"I won't drop you," said Harry. "You're not even heavy—you might as well be a feather on the moon." He cast _Lumos_ with his wand, which spread warm light into the dark cavern. Large, diamond shaped stones glittered in its glow. "We can work a lot more quickly airborne than reaching from a ladder. We just have to work together to figure out the correct pattern."

Hermione raised her wand, her arm shaking with every movement. Harry chuckled, and she scowled. "Be quiet, you." Hermione cast a light ball, which hovered close by. "There, now you can turn off your _Lumos_ spell and help me."

"But Hermione, if I cast a spell, I'll probably shake like this." He fell into a sudden jerk downward, and she yelped and clung tighter.

"Harry!" she said, her face flushed bright red, which just made him laugh even more. " _Stop teasing_."

"Alright, alright," he said, manoeuvring his wand into position. "Let's try out a few sequences."

After some pattern testing, and hovering back and forth around the door, Harry was ordered to set Hermione back on the ground before she "threw up all over him." He finished the puzzle by himself, and when the right sequence was tapped, Harry heard a chime. The door flashed with a festive display of red and green.

"There's two colours this time," said Hermione, as Harry descended. "Does that mean the quest is both Slytherin and Gryffindor?"

"Yes, indeed," said Harry brightly. "Ready for your first Slytherin quest?"

Hermione glared up at the blinking lights, as if the quest gods had betrayed her, and then sighed. "Just don't gloat too much, okay?"

* * *

As usual, the first quest was a nice, easy one. Hermione suspected that the game would escalate depending on how well you did in the quest—how long you took, how quickly you adapted. She figured if the game was that smart, then it should know she really wasn't in the mood for a Slytherin quest.

But it was also her first real Gryffindor quest, and _that_ part was exhilarating. They were tasked with ridding a town of a group of giant spiders. Her weapon was a Bow of Lost Souls, and she would shoot fire arrows from a distance as they tried to scale the walls. Harry had a Gun of Screaming Ghouls—which made the spiders' heads explode—and he took full advantage of his flight abilities to blast the spiders from above.

When they finished that quest, and left the town amid the cheerful waves of the villagers, they found the second quest door in the middle of a barren field. Hermione felt sad when the door wouldn't open until she dropped her weapon.

Inside, they were back in the cave. The room had one door on the far wall, still locked, and two rows of cabinets alongside it, with a table between them. Beside her, Harry started laughing, in the evil dark lord sort of way. "Oh, yes," he said. "Finally!"

Hermione still had no idea what was going on, but Harry turned to her, a wicked smirk on his face. Sweeping a bow, he said, "Hermione Granger, I am _so_ happy to finally say this. I hereby formally challenge you to a duel."

* * *

Harry had taken care of the preliminary activities, meanwhile explaining the game to Hermione. Since it was an enchanted item duel, they set aside their charmed pouches. Harry had to change into spare robes, since the charmed pocket counted against him.

And now, rubbing his hands gleefully, Harry was examining his row of charmed items.

He still couldn't believe his luck. He'd almost given up hope, and now, the long awaited day was finally here.

"Okay, seriously," said Hermione behind him, as she examined her row of items. "These weapons are really bizarre, and I can barely make out what they're supposed to do."

"Yes, that's perfectly standard gameplay," he said, with a self-satisfied grin. "Less talking, more choosing."

He cast a glance over his row of items. There were the usual weapons, many of them little better than knick-knacks, especially against Hermione. He would need something more creative, an advantage to counteract her speed and strength. If possible, he needed something that could keep her from touching him, since otherwise, this duel would be fairly short and extremely painful for him.

"But…" continued Hermione. "That doesn't even make sense. We're partners. We shouldn't be fighting each other."

"Ahh, but you forget that this quest is part Slytherin," Harry said, inspecting a potion. "It's only fitting that we plot against each other."

There was silence for a moment. Then, Hermione said, "What happens if I forfeit?"

Harry almost dropped the potion, the weight of disappointment crushing him. "Well, I don't know, but I imagine since it's both a Slytherin and Gryffindor quest, you'd fail on both counts, and we'll be sent to the punishment area. _Please_ don't do that, Hermione. I know you're not particularly fond of duelling with me, but you can't give up before you even try."

He heard her let out a short laugh, then she said, her voice musing, "Maybe I should make a deal with you? A battle in exchange for something I want?"

Harry's mind whirled. "Umm…you mean for the quest prize? Hold on, let's turn around."

They turned to face each other, separated by the wooden table. Harry couldn't see the row of weapons behind her, though he faced it directly. The items were different from his, but he wasn't allowed to examine them until after they'd chosen their own weapons. Usually there was a timer counting down during the selection, but the clock still hadn't started, so Harry wondered if the rules were different this time. He had never battled an actual person before, just NPCs.

Harry folded his arms. "So, what sort of quid-pro-quo arrangement shall we make, Ms. Granger?"

Hermione bit her lip, her eyes searching the whorls on the table for answers. "Well, how about…umm…in exchange for me participating in this duel, you agree to do me a favour in the future?"

Harry raised his eyebrows—Professor Quirrell would rise up from his grave to curse him if he agreed to that. "I think there should be some parameters to this favour. I don't want to have to give away something of great value—like a 1000 pounds, for example—just because we struck this deal."

Hermione smiled, a hint of mischief behind it. "Well, don't worry, I don't need your money. And I suppose you'll require a 'no kissing' clause too?"

His cold chose that exact moment to throw him into a coughing fit, which only increased his embarrassment, since _she_ would think they were related. "You know, Hermione…umm…that's not exactly fair. I was only eleven the last time you tried to kiss me."

She drew patterns with her fingers on the table. "Most eleven year old boys aren't that disgusted by kissing, especially not with beautiful and accomplished witches. But I suppose we have to make an exception for Harry Potter, who is just too god-like for those plebeian pleasures."

"I'm not disgusted by it," retorted Harry, offended. "I'm sure that once I find someone that I want to kiss, then it will be a pleasurable experience for both of us."

It was only after he said it, and Hermione started laughing, that he realized how ridiculous that sounded.

"I'll believe it when I see it," she said, eyes shining with mirth, still with that mischievous smile.

Blushing, Harry angrily ran a hand through his hair. "Okay, whatever, I accept your terms. If you give me a fair fight, I'll grant you a favour, taking it on good faith that you'll be reasonable." They shook hands. "Now, let's get on with this game."

Harry turned back to his row of enchanted items. Forgetting the weapons, which would be unlikely to work on her anyway, Harry turned to the charms and potions. He scanned the row, picking up a few to examine them, until he happened upon something interesting. He'd used it once before, in a battle where its power had hardly been necessary. But this time…

He grinned, his brain already running ahead of itself with his plans.

"I'm ready," said Harry.

 _Bing!_ The timer started, showing that Hermione had one minute left.

He could hear her taking a flustered breath. He turned around to see her biting her nail, staring down at her table. She picked something up that he couldn't see, a frown on her face. He wondered if she'd ever seen these sorts of items before. Based on her reaction, it seemed like her first time.

 _I would love to teach her a few things, if you know what I mean,_ said an unknown voice in Harry's brain.

 _Umm…who was that?_ asked Hufflepuff, fearfully.

 _I don't know,_ said Ravenclaw. _Let's just ignore it. We don't need any more voices._

Beside her, the clock counted down. 10, 9…

"Okay, I'm ready," said Hermione.

* * *

As it turned out, the game didn't start as soon as you said, "Ready." There were certain things to take care of first.

Both of them were given the option to examine the other person's table, for ten seconds, to get an idea of what their opponent had chosen. Hermione didn't see the point—ten seconds was barely enough time to blink. As she looked over Harry's table, the only thing that jumped out to her was that his items had been just as odd as hers.

Harry said, "Hmm," as he examined her table, as if he was getting some ideas. He was probably just messing with her, since it wasn't as if the item she'd picked was even made much sense, like it was a "Hermione-style" weapon. In fact, it was almost embarrassing how frazzled she'd been while examining her items. The descriptions for each one were insanely long, and she was a fast reader but not _that_ fast, so she'd ended up reading everything and nothing at the same time.

Though she didn't know which item Harry had chosen, she knew it probably wasn't a standard melee weapon. He would choose magic that would either intimidate her or cause a distraction—the more chaos, the better. She thought back to the time he'd scared the bullies into submission with a fake dark ritual, sending blood oozing out from under doorways while phantom creatures let out guttural shrieks.

Everything about his fighting style was smoke and mirrors, primed to confuse the opponent to the point that they couldn't think straight enough to win. Hermione remembered what it felt like to be on the receiving end of that, and something inside her insisted that she would _not_ be squashed like a sad, little bug by him ever again. Especially when he kept _grinning_ at her, like he already knew exactly how he was going to win. And so, as the seconds counted down, Hermione chose a weapon that would fight fire with fire.

She grimaced, thinking of the small, inconspicuous item she'd chosen. Maybe she'd gone _too_ far in the "fire with fire" direction. She hadn't had time to read the entire description, but if the item did what she thought it did…well, she just wouldn't use it unless she needed to. But that left her with nothing for the fight, while Harry had something incredibly annoying up his sleeve. She sighed. So help her, Hermione would find another way to beat him.

Once the viewing process was finished, Harry picked a coin from a slot in a small wooden table, which looked extremely out of place in the vast cavern. On one side, the coin said, "Elido" and on the other, "Collido."

"Whichever one it lands on, is how points are scored," said Harry. "Since I picked the coin, you flip it."

Balancing the coin on her nail, Hermione tossed it and caught it on the back of her hand. Glancing at it, she said, "Collido."

Harry exhaled in relief, and Hermione could guess why. "Elido" in Latin meant something like "knock out" and "Collido" meant "hit." It wouldn't be much of a fair fight if he had to knock her unconscious. She didn't even know if she could do that to herself.

"So, the first one to cause any kind of damage to the other is the winner," said Harry, explaining the rules as they headed back to the charmed items table. "Let's go get our stuff."

Hermione nodded. They headed back to the centre of the room, a bell chiming to signal the game was about to begin. "I must say," said Harry. "I'm quite interested in seeing which item you chose. Don't go easy on me, please, as I'm going to try my best against you."

That should have made Hermione feel more competitive, but instead she just swallowed and nodded.

They turned to face each other, wands at the ready. "On three," said Harry, raising his hand, still wearing that grin. "One…two…three!"

He snapped his fingers, and disappeared.

" _Hominum revelo_!" Hermione said, casting a wide array. Her spell told her no one was there. She tried again, but still nothing.

 _Oh, crap._

"Hello Hermione," said a voice behind her.

She turned, casting a shield just in time to avoid the sleeping hex.

He chuckled, the voice seeming to rise from everywhere.

"Let's play a game," he said, this time to her right.

Along the left well, Harry's form appeared. She fired on him, and he winked out of existence, reappearing a few seconds later.

"Catch me if you can," he said, grinning.


	24. Clones and Monsters

Chapter 24

Hermione sat against the wall, under the prismatic shield, glaring at the eight Harrys in front of her.

"I'm Henry the eighth I am!" one of them crowed, in an awful stringy voice. "Henry the eighth I am I am!"

"I got married to a widow next door!" joined another one. "She's been married SEVEN TIMES before!"

Hermione scowled. It was her fifteenth time listening to that stupid song. That would have been annoying by itself, but he had somehow found a way to make it into a form of torture. He would suddenly change pitch, insert long, discordant pauses, and randomly start shrieking. It was taking every shred of self-control to drown out that nails on chalkboard feeling.

"Would you quit it?" she said through gritted teeth.

"Of course," the offending Harry clone said. "If you come out from under that shield and fight me."

Hermione just stared straight ahead, not acknowledging him in any way. She was trying to think.

She had seen this trick used before during Auror training. It was hard to cast as a spell, but easy enough if you used a potion, which is what she assumed Harry did. The spell would allow Harry to spontaneously duplicate himself, and teleport his magical ability to any projection of himself that he made. He could make the projections talk at will, but he could only cast magic from one at a time. He didn't even have to cast magic from his original body. If she hit the mirage, it wouldn't hurt him. The projection would just disappear.

The trick would be to figure out which one was the real Harry, _or_ the magical Harry, then strike him.

"You know, it's going to be a really boring fight if you just sit there until the spell wears off," mused a Harry sitting along the wall. "I can't honour our deal, in that case."

In Auror training, she'd learned a few strategies to deal with this problem. She could attack each clone one by one, but that would leave her open to counterattack by Harry's disillusioned selves, of which she knew there had to be _at least_ one. Which meant there were at least nine of him, and she was effectively surrounded. Normally, _Hominum Revelo_ would have revealed all of them and made the job a lot simpler, but of course, Harry had planned for that.

"I suppose I shouldn't be surprised about this," said Hermione. "But how in the world did you learn how to cast near perfect invisibility spells?"

The Harry directly in front of her, standing with his arms folded, grinned. "Just practice. You may have my cloak, but I wouldn't leave myself defenceless. Plus, I like being invisible too much. All the same, perhaps you'll figure out how to find me?"

Hermione felt a pang of regret for not practicing that skill more. But she had the cloak, and it hadn't been needed. Besides, where would she find the time?

"I could just take you all down at once," mused Hermione. "I can shoot fire spells like a machine gun."

"You could try," one of his selves said, smirking.

Hermione felt a familiar knot of frustration building inside her. Of course, Harry would have thought of a way around that, wouldn't he? It would be the very first thing he would have done. While he couldn't cast magic from more than one projection at once, he could leave transfigured items nearby that would detonate if she shot at them. He was always transfiguring random devices to use in battle, like that time he'd made a bomb out of _sunlight_.

If she triggered one accidentally-and it hit her-then it would be game over. But it wouldn't even need to be a bomb. It just needed to have a distracting enough effect so that any coordinated attempt to destroy him would end in failure. No, there was no way he'd leave himself open to such an easy attack.

Hermione had a plan, though. She'd learned of a spell, a tracking device used by Aurors. It would stick to any human or animal target for several hours, just a small trace of magic that was virtually undetectable. It didn't even require a wand to cast. She sent one of them out, just as one of the Harrys let out a shriek that made her wince.

She gritted her teeth. Just a bit longer, and she would know where all his invisible selves were. Then, she could coordinate an array attack that would take him out, before he had a chance to fight back.

The most offensive Harry—the one who kept shrieking—hopped down off a ledge.

"That shield must be tiring you out," he said. "Am I to understand, that in all your Auror training, you still don't know how to defend and fire and the same time?"

"Well," she quipped. "Now you know why Aurors work in threes."

He stared at her. "In that case, your entire agency would be more incompetent than a medieval warrior. So, no, I don't believe that."

Hermione huffed a sigh, and decided to set up her own distraction. Her tracking spell wasn't completely undetectable, after all. "You know what, maybe I do know how to do that. But what would be the point, Harry? No matter how hard I try, you always win."

"Well, of course. Since you _aren't_ trying."

Hermione ground her teeth. "Who says I'm not trying? Skilled Aurors have the use of charms and potions to defend themselves. It's like wearing body armor, and each one drains your magic. Of course, I haven't mastered how to fight under _all those spells_ , because I'm not some perfect warrior god. Unlike you, who could make a weapon out of a cotton ball."

"Thank you," said Harry, as a few of his selves started bowing. "But seriously, why don't you hit one of me? You've got a one in eight chance of hitting the original body. If you manage to hit the one that's hiding my magic, that'll also affect me, whether it's the original body or not. But you know that already, right?"

"Don't patronize me," she said, her sight turned inward to the magic criss-crossing the room. "Your real self is probably invisible and flying around in a corner. Besides, why don't you attack me? You know how to break this shield."

"And reveal my magical minion? That's just asking for trouble." He smiled. "But just because I'm sitting here doesn't mean I don't have a plan. Just like you do, don't you, Hermione?"

Her magic had located another invisible person. That brought the total up to 10, and no one could go beyond 12 without physical pain. Not even Harry. She was close.

In her mind's eye, one of the threads snapped. There were ten, and now there were nine.

She blinked, searching for the one she'd lost. Nothing had changed. Another thread snapped, and this time a Harry on the right flickered out, reappearing again in the blink of an eye.

With a sinking feeling, Hermione realized he'd known all along about the tracker spell. Tonks had used it once in class, and _of course_ he would have been curious to know how she defeated that 5th year Ravenclaw. All he would have had to do was ask someone. Mad Eye Moody, or Professor Flitwick. And since it was such a weak tracker, it wouldn't be hard to scrub away if you knew to look for it.

Her mind spun trying to think of a new strategy, but it felt so frustratingly pointless. Fighting with him was like a marionette trying to duel its puppet master. He always seemed to predict what she would do before she even tried it, and had factored it into his evil master plan. Her fists tightened. The worst thing was, she was the one who was being trained in battle strategy. And yet he was still better than her, and he knew it.

As she ruminated over these soul crushing thoughts, he went right on talking, his tone singsong. "Well, you know what they say, when one plan fails…"

"You know what, I've just about had it with you," fumed Hermione, standing up. "You are so insufferable with these mind games. This is supposed to be a duel, not a torture chamber! When you beat someone, you don't have to rub it in, you jerk! Get over here and fight me!"

"Uhhh…" said Harry. "I think not."

"Why, are you chicken? Scared you can't handle me unless you're hiding behind a chicken coward spell? Bawk bawk bawk!"

He was biting his lip, as if trying not to laugh. "What are you doing?"

Hermione stomped her foot. "Shut up! Every day, I always give it 110%. In my work, at school, and even in this dumb game. Even though I don't get enough sleep. Even though I feel lonely, and scared, and like I'm 2 seconds from wanting to leap off a cliff, I always have to smile and pretend like everything is fine! But it's not fine, Harry! And you're just pissing me off with your stupid taunting!"

His smile faded. "I didn't…uhh…I didn't mean—"

"Well, of course you didn't, because it doesn't change the fact that you're part of the problem! Now stop being a wuss, and get your butt over here! You're due for an ass kicking!"

He didn't say anything, just stared at her with his mouth agape. Another two of the threads snapped. Not like it mattered, anyway, but it still made her furious.

"Hermione…" said Harry, his voice nervous. "Please, calm down."

She knew he was right, that she was acting ridiculous. At that moment, however, the desire to crush something was so strong she could barely contain it. And, as if by magic, her mind supplied the answer.

The spell that would split a person was called, " _Fracturus_." Harry had used a potion, not a spell, but the magic behind it was the same. In some advanced potion books, she'd read that a way to warp a spell would be to change a key part of the phrase. That was why, sometimes, when a spell was spoken wrong, it would blow something up. That was also why the most delicate spells were kept in the restricted section of the Hogwarts library.

" _Fracturus_ " was one of those delicate spells. A tiny mistake could have grave effects. By changing the ending syllable, she could pronounce it as "Fracturocks." It might do nothing, if she hit Harry with it. But if she was right, and her intuition often was, then it would corrupt the spell, even if she hit a fake Harry. He would begin to split out of control, and then it was only a matter of time before he wouldn't be able to deal with the strain. She could identify and take out the real Harry then.

The realization was euphoric. She could win! That would show stupid, smug Harry that he wasn't the best…

She turned to face him, but he didn't look smug right now. His clones all wore nearly identical expressions of concern and confusion. And that's when Hermione had her second realization.

She couldn't use the spell. Even when fighting Dark Wizards, improvising a spell was rash and dangerous. She certainly couldn't test out a magical corruption spell against her friend, no matter how angry she felt, or how much she wanted to win.

Her head pounded, and she felt lightheaded. She didn't have the energy for these mind games. No matter the outcome, it was time to end this.

"Alright, Harry," said Hermione, dropping her shield. "Come and get me."

* * *

The battle didn't take long at all.

Hermione fired at each Harry, as fast as she could, running in a straight line. Something blew up near one of Harry's feet, which triggered a whining sound and a lot of smoke. He fired at her from behind, and Hermione dodged. She fired, dodged, and kept moving until five Harry clones surrounded her. Three stood behind them, out of range, wands raised.

It was a stand-off. Maybe she would get lucky, and her spell would hit Harry before he hit her. But she was certain the original Harry was well protected, and his magic would evacuate the host as soon as he fired on her.

Hermione lowered her wand.

"Just do it," she said.

There was a long pause. "That's it? You're just going to give up?"

Hermione shrugged, and Harry looked outraged. "Then what was all that talk about fighting me for? Do you seriously have no ideas about how to get out of this situation?"

"Well…"

"What is it?"

"I did have one spell to try, but I can't use it. It's too dangerous."

The Harry clone folded his arms. "How dangerous? Scale of 1 to 10, in which 10 is death or brain cancer."

Hermione blinked. "Uhh…well, I don't think you'd _die_ , but I can't use untested spells on you. Just hit me, Harry, I don't care."

He put his head in his hands. "I can't believe this. You try one way to defeat me, _one_ , and then start yelling at me when I try to defend myself. And while you were glowering under the shield, I came up with at least three different strategies you could have tried. For example, you could have turned invisible immediately and gone on the attack. Even if I cast _Hominum Revelo_ , you would have been going too fast for me to hit you."

She frowned. "But I would have just been hitting projections. It would do nothing, and you would recreate—"

"Yes, but it takes a few seconds if I'm dodging attacks, and it requires my own magic and concentration to sustain those forms. It's HARD to control 8 or 9 bodies at a time. You could have focused on any attack that might have overwhelmed me, forcing me to reduce my numbers and making me an easier target."

Which is what she was _going_ to do, but she'd only thought of the one way, there were others…

Harry steamrolled on. "You could have cast spells to block off parts of the room, then corralled me into a corner and attacked. You could have cast a distraction spell to trip me up and give you an advantage. You could have used any number of strategies to force me to show you my real identity. I wouldn't have made it easy, and I would have fought you for every step, but odds are, you still would have won."

Hermione stood there, while Harry's clones winked out of existence, leaving one real Harry. He was standing right in front of her, this whole time. "Even if you'd tried everything, and it still didn't work, it would have been more fun than just…sitting on the floor, right?" He rubbed the back of his head, and murmured. "Unless you really think I'm that annoying to fight with."

He stood there, waiting for an answer. She folded her arms, and said softly, "Harry, all those ideas, they're yours. I'm not that creative."

He shook his head. "You have to believe in yourself. You're strong and capable, even against an annoying opponent like me. It's not like I always won, even when I was a General."

Hermione knew he was trying to help her, but all she could hear was Madam Bones' disapproving tone. _You should think of these things, Hermione. I shouldn't have to tell you. If you fail, then your team fails._ And then, another voice, more cajoling, like an alligator trying to draw her into the water. _I need someone strong to defend our country. Do you think you're brave enough to do what needs to be done?_

Hermione could feel herself shaking. _The fight isn't over yet._

She blinked back tears and pulled the silver ball from her pocket. Wincing, she threw it at Harry, and fire exploded from the end of it in the form of a dragon. Fiend fyre.

She stared in abject horror. _No no no!_

But then, as Harry tried to run, she saw it was just a colourful paper dragon that _looked_ like it was on fire.

The blast of the ridiculous paper dragon knocked him over, as it roared into the ceiling and exploded into confetti.

A woman's voice intoned, "Hermione Granger: win."

* * *

"Umm, do you think you could stop apologizing?" asked Harry, as she applied first aid to his injured forehead.

"Sorry," said Hermione, with a wince. "I mean—I just want you to know I didn't mean to hurt you. Or yell at you, either. I don't know what came over me."

As she inspected his scalp for the tiniest injuries, Harry sighed. She'd insisted on treating his minor wounds, as a form of apology. But she was really going overboard, here.

"Honestly, Hermione, if the confetti bomb had been on purpose, it would have been a brilliant strategy. Manipulating me into letting down my guard, blasting me with a sneak attack. I certainly didn't expect it. Of course, now I'll keep in mind that this weapon is in your arsenal."

Hermione finished with his first aid, and stood before him, twining her fingers nervously. "I said some really hurtful things to you, Harry. I didn't mean any of it, but…I wouldn't hold it against you if you were mad at me."

"I'm not mad," said Harry. Her scalding words had hurt him, at first, since he'd been shocked she thought he was so aggravating to her. But, as usual, logical introspection on these events had saved him from jumping to conclusions. She'd merely been taking her feelings out on him again, which bothered him less than when she avoided him for weeks trying to sort it out herself. Though, on second thought, maybe he could have been a _little_ less antagonizing.

"Would it make you feel better if I decided not to owe you a favour?" suggested Harry.

She worried her lip. "Well…no. I think I put up a good fight, and I won fair and square." Her voice lowered. "Even if it was underhanded."

"Yes, it was," agreed Harry. "You'd almost think we were doing a _Slytherin_ quest."

Both of them went to get their things, and Harry noticed with a frown that she staggered slightly while leaning over. More than anything, he was concerned about her admission she'd been thinking about jumping off cliffs. Maybe it was just an exaggerated, heat of the moment expression, but he still needed to check in with her when this was all over.

Once they got their things, the two of them walked through the quest door, which led into a dark forest. Dead leaves crunched beneath their feet as they assessed their surroundings, the pale moonlight shining through the trees. Something howled in the distance, long and loud, like it was in pain.

"Use the night vision spell," said Harry. " _Nocto Vidus_. That way we can see what we're up against."

She was silent a few moments, as if she didn't hear.

"Oh," she said, shaking her head. "Right."

She cast the spell on herself, then blinked and looked around, squinting to adjust her vision. "What is that?"

Harry cast the spell and checked where she was pointing. "I don't see anything."

"Right there, it looks like—"

Behind them, crunching leaves gave away an intruder. Harry glimpsed a large shape and sharp fangs, and cried, "Werewolf!"

The creature lunged, and Harry screamed a spell to repel it. But just then, the other creature Hermione spotted came crashing through the trees, along with its friends, chittering and screeching. Acromantula. They were joined by the remaining pack of howling werewolves, their jaws frothing with foam.

 _Uggh, again with the spiders?_ thought Harry. _This is going overboard._

They had no choice but to go on the defensive. Harry and Hermione both cast shield spells, but with how violently the spiders beat against it, he didn't know how long they would hold. Harry was already sweating from strain—the duplication potion had drained his magic more than he'd thought. Standing at his back, Hermione slammed against him, gasping from the impact.

"Are you alright?" asked Harry.

"Yes," she said, but her voice was strained. "One of them almost got through, but I repelled him."

Harry glanced up, and saw there were some werewolves lunging to the top of their shields, trying to crawl down from above. That would make his "flying to safety" plan a lot more difficult. As Harry tried to think of another way out, Hermione touched his arm, "Drop your shield on three. I'm going to attack them. One…"

Harry turned to face her. "Wait, what are you doing?"

She was concentrating, practicing the wand movement. "Auror magic. Two…three!"

Harry dropped the shield, and the air around them burst like a fiery sonic boom, knocking the monsters back several paces while lighting them on fire. As their shrieks and stench filled the air, Hermione slumped against him, her eyes closed. Alarmed, Harry cast _Innervate_ , but she didn't respond.

Clutching her against him, he launched into the air, fighting to make it above the treeline. Large black shapes swung out from branches, hurtling towards them, and Harry knocked them back with the blasting spell. He winced as the tail end of a branch whacked his cheek, and he moved his arm to protect Hermione's head.

Harry watched the sky with growing apprehension. As fast as he was going, he should have made it above the treeline by now. Yet the trees seemed to stretch on forever, the sky never getting closer.

His brain was trying to think of some creative way out of this situation. If they were both invisible, the monsters might be unable to sense them. He didn't have enough magic left to hide them both, but her cloak should be sufficient, if he could slow down enough to grab it.

As he searched for a resting place in the trees, a spider blindsided him. Harry swerved, but its prehensile legs latched onto Hermione's waist, wrenching her away and knocking his wand from his hand.

He shoved his hand into the pouch on his waist. "Spare wand!" he cried. His lungs were burning, a headache warning him not to push his magic any farther. As soon as the wand touched his hand, he burned a path through the trees and tore after them.

After a few moments, he saw Hermione, limp like a ragdoll in the werewolf's jaws. Panic raced through him at the thought she'd been poisoned, or her neck broken—but he shoved back his fears. Time for that later—he needed a clear head now.

Harry's pursuit ended in a clearing, where thousands of spiders congregated, chittering and screaming like demons. Hermione, wrapped in spider silk, hung from a low web strung between two monstrous trees. Below, the werewolves howled and paced beneath, while the spiders danced on the web, their legs rearing. It looked as though they planned to bleed her— an offering for their terrible feast.

He had played these games for years, and he'd gotten angry at the NPCs before. But Harry wasn't angry, oh no, he was far past that.

He wanted to burn, to destroy every last filthy creature that dared breathe in this place. Their forest would burn too, razed to ash. He'd destroy the _game_ for hurting Hermione like this. With a cry of vengeance, Harry raised his wand, but the sight of something stopped him.

Within one of the monstrous trees, Harry saw the yawning gap of the open quest door. It was closing.

* * *

When Harry realized what was happening, he felt shocked. Then, furious.

This was a Sophie's choice scenario. If he went through the quest door, he would win the game and take the treasure. All he'd have to do was abandon Hermione.

Not permanently, of course, but for as long as it took to prevent the door from closing. He could put a rock inside to bolster it up, or there might be a switch he needed to pull. In either case, he would be losing precious seconds on a stupid door, while the spiders feasted on Hermione, sucking the blood out of her and injecting her with _more_ poison.

Although…if he'd estimated correctly, it would take about 30 seconds to get to the door and block it. Even if the spiders did bite her within that time, she would regenerate any lost blood, and quickly metabolize the toxins. If she was still knocked out, she probably wouldn't remember anything. By the time she woke up, it would be like it had never happened at all.

Not to mention, this was a Hogwarts generated game, and the school wouldn't allow a student to die. Based on the difficulty level of this quest, he wagered that the prize would be quite exceptional.

He cast one look at the rapidly closing door, then another at Hermione, cold and pale, surrounded by monsters.

With a cry of rage, he jerked forwards, whipping through the air so fast it shrieked in his ears, and launched fireballs at the spiders. Screeching, the spiders crawled away, and Harry cast the cutting spell to slice Hermione free of the web. It did nothing, except send a shock of fire up his arm. Desperate, he gritted his teeth and pulled her, the pain in his arm blinding him.

In the distance, the clang of a gong sounded, long and low. They had lost the quest.

The forest fell away, the world covered in pitch black darkness. Lighting his wand, Harry could see they'd returned to a cave, but this time, there was no door. The sound of rain pattered outside, and Harry felt the dampness brush the hem of his robes. The web that bound Hermione had vanished, and as he set her down, he checked her for injuries.

There were none that he could see, no sign of bleeding. He watched her breathe, the rise and fall of her chest assuring him that she still lived.

Harry sat back, passing a hand over his face. He was shaking.

 _She's fine,_ reassured his brain. _The spider web disintegrated, so the wolf bite and its toxins did too. She's not going to wake up a werewolf._

Harry checked his pouch for a pillow, but the best he had was a towel. He folded it, gently placing it under her head. As he sat there, mulling over her condition, his Slytherin side spoke up. _Umm…sorry to disturb you, but I think you made a terrible mistake._

 _No. Shut up._

Harry tried to strangle Slytherin, but it kept talking. _Hear me out. You see, even if Hermione had suffered both werewolf and spider bites, the better outcome would have been to win the quest. We would be free of this cave, and safely ensconced in the warmth of Hogwarts, where Madam Pomfrey could tend to both Hermione's magical exhaustion and possible injuries. Instead, here we are, trapped, miserable losers with no way to help her. Did I miss anything?_

 _No, I think that about covers it,_ muttered Harry's brain.

 _In addition,_ continued Slytherin. _We would be the proud owners of a quest prize—_

 _Except that your theory doesn't cover the increased danger involved with accumulated injuries, or the fact that I might have failed the quest anyway. We could be trapped in here with a mangled, poisoned Hermione instead of an exhausted one. And please understand this part, because it's very important: I will absolutely, positively never allow Hermione to get hurt so we can win a game. Period. Now, shut up._

Ignoring his Slytherin side, Harry turned to check on Hermione again. She breathed deeply, untroubled in sleep, but she felt cool to the touch. He took off his warming charm, attached it to a spare robe from his pouch, and draped it over her. As if sensing the warmth, she sighed and tucked her chin under the robes, curling into them. Locks of hair clung to her forehead, drenched in perspiration. She was paler than usual.

 _What if she was bitten in the neck?_

Harry frowned, slipping his hand behind there to check. Hermione could survive trauma to most parts of her body, even theoretically re-growing a detached limb, but her brain was still vulnerable. If she was bitten in just the right spot on her head or neck, it could prevent regeneration in the area, and she would die.

This vulnerability was kept secret from everyone, for obvious reasons, and the only reason he knew was because she told him.

He checked his watch, and they'd only been there for 15 minutes. They would be stuck for at least another half hour.

Harry started to fidget. He didn't care if he was overthinking it, he hated sitting around and doing nothing.

Then he remembered his Patronus. He drew his wand, shouting " _Expecto Patronum!_ "

Nothing happened.

And then he remembered the cutting charm not working earlier.

Damn it, had he exhausted his magic, too?

He was digging through his bag for a Portkey—which probably wouldn't work if they were within the wards of Hogwarts—when Hermione stirred.

"Where am I?" she mumbled, blinking, then frowning at the near darkness. "Hello?"

"I'm here." Harry crouched beside her. "You were asleep. We lost the game and we're trapped in a cave for now. How do you feel?"

She rolled to face him, grimacing with the motion. "Not great. What happened? The last thing I remember, we were fighting monsters."

"You fell unconscious after casting a spell, most likely due to magical exhaustion. I tried to help us escape, but then you got captured and possibly bitten by a werewolf." He swallowed. "Are you feeling any…Lupine tendencies? Like a craving for meat?"

She rubbed her forehead, then sat up with a groan. "No, but I don't think that's likely…apparently my unicorn blood prohibits that particular toxin from taking hold." After swaying in place for a second, she closed her eyes. "I do feel tired, though."

"Lie down, it's okay," he said. "We'll be here a while."

Nodding, she lay back down, glancing at his robe and then pulling it up to her shoulders. "Why did we lose the quest? Is it because I passed out?"

Harry grimaced. "No, it's because the infernal game was rigged. I would have had to let the monsters get you in order to win"

She frowned. "What do you mean?"

Harry explained what happened, and she listened without comment. Then she turned to stare up at the dark fathoms of the rock cave. "That's strange."

"Yeah, no kidding. I don't know what kind of low-lifes that quest was designed for, since no one in their right mind would…" Harry trailed off. No need to get into a rage over it now.

"Hmm," said Hermione. She glanced over at him. "Thank you for saving me."

There passed about a minute of silence. Harry kept glancing over to see if she was sleeping, but she was staring at the top of the cave. He knew this was his chance to ask her about her "jumping off cliffs" comment, but he couldn't seem to find the words. He worried it would be stressful for her, and she already wasn't feeling her best.

No…that was an excuse. He was worried that he would be terrible at comforting her, and inevitably make it worse somehow. He swallowed. But he had to try, all the same. He was about to speak when Hermione turned to him.

"I want to ask you something," she said. "Let me know if you think you can help me."

She folded her arms over herself. "The day after Slughorn's dinner, I had a meeting with Minister Fudge and Madam Bones. It was a training course for Aurors, but I was the only Hogwarts student, so I think they made an exception for me. They gave us a test...well, more like a pre-test, and had us discuss the answers. Many of the people—including the Minister and Madam Bones—had very different opinions from me on the correct response. When I tried to argue my point, I was shut down. So, now I'm wondering what you think, Harry. Can you give me your insight on the questions?"

"Sure, I'll try," said Harry.

Hermione nodded and sat up, her gaze fixed on the far wall ahead of them. "One of the questions went like this. There is a Dark Wizard in custody who is suspected of murder, but only proven to have committed robbery. However, he is connected with a crime syndicate that is involved with ongoing terror attacks. The Aurors think this person has information that could help locate the leaders. How do you handle it?"

Harry thought for a moment. "That depends. Has he taken an unbreakable vow not to reveal the information?"

"It's unclear, though some magical means of binding him to secrecy is standard procedure for the syndicate. However, as I was informed, there's ways around that."

"How?" asked Harry.

"There's a type of bug called Pixie Worms, which look like glowing maggots. They're a parasite that latches onto magical creatures and slowly drains their magic. The group's suggestion was to threaten to stuff the bugs inside him, which would over a period of days leave him a Squib. If you have no magic, you can't be bound by a magical vow. They then suggested Veritaserum, or if that didn't work, torture, to get the information out of him.

"One of the problems was that Pixie Worms can burrow into a subject's brain, which would kill him. I said that since he's only been convicted of robbery, he isn't worthy of the death penalty, regardless of his affiliations. I thought maybe talking to him, persuading him to help in exchange for immunity, would be the first step." She let out a sigh. "Mad Eye Moody actually laughed at that."

"It's not a bad suggestion," said Harry. "Why did he laugh?"

"He said, 'You think he'll talk just because we ask him nicely? Azkaban is nothing compared to what his associates will do if they find out he squawked.'" Hermione frowned. "Apparently, witness protection doesn't work so well when magical tracking is involved. I tried to start a discussion about other strategies, but they all seemed to think the parasite bugs were the best solution. What do you think, Harry?"

He was quiet for a long moment. "I understand your dilemma, but there is no easy answer. It all depends on the situation. Have you heard of Pablo Escobar?"

"A little bit," said Hermione. "He's a drug dealer, right?"

"Not just any drug dealer," Harry said. "He was once the largest distributor of cocaine in the entire world, and head of a crime syndicate. When the authorities tried to stop him, he started a war in Columbia to protect his drug trade. He blew up government buildings and planes, shot up restaurants and bombed public areas, plunging his country into chaos. Those in power that he couldn't bribe into silence, he murdered in cold blood.

"Pablo became so powerful that, for a long time, the police couldn't touch him. They became desperate. A terrorist group began targeting anyone related to Pablo, ruthlessly executing them and displaying their bodies, and the police just…let it happen. They probably even supported them with weapons."

Harry paused a moment. "Those who were executed weren't always guilty. Some of them were innocent family members of Pablo and his men. Morality aside, the vigilante group's strategy worked. After a few months, Pablo and his organization were destroyed, and peace was restored to the country. That's a significantly better outcome than sacrificing thousands of innocent lives in a long, drawn out war, or allowing an unhinged tyrant to rain destruction down on the country."

Hermione shook her head. "I can see what you mean, but…it seems so evil. How can something so terrible be the only way?"

"I know," he sighed. "And perhaps you're right, and a more effective strategy could have been found. That's a question for the historians, I guess."

Harry shrugged. "Going back to your case. I think you're right to start from the least violent solution. If I were in your shoes, I would measure the probability of brain damage by using the parasite bugs, and weigh it against how long it would take to see results from another strategy. If you have only one hour to get information, then that can limit your options. I would consider granting immunity first, or some other means to bargain for cooperation. But in the end, if there was no better alternative, then I would do what is necessary to protect people."

"Even torture?" asked Hermione, her voice small.

"Yes, if it came down to it. To protect the innocent, I would have a moral obligation to do whatever it takes." She seemed so visibly shaken that Harry hastened to add, "Still, it's an extreme situation that would likely only happen during wartime. In most cases, I'm sure you could find far better and more effective solutions than violence."

It was a few moments after saying this that Harry realized he was being a hypocrite, since he'd made the decision to torture the spider without seriously considering any other strategy.

Hermione sighed, burying her face into her knees. She was quiet for a long moment. When she spoke, her voice sounded hollow. "One more question. There's a 19 year old man casting hexes on Muggles. Aurors arrive, and find him wandering the streets, deranged. How do you approach the situation?"

"Fire a sleep hex and take him to the hospital."

"They tried it, but he blocked the hexes. It's three in the morning, and he's threatening to blow up someone's house."

"Umm...so tie him up. Surely the Aurors can find some way to handle a 19 year old. Maybe throw some marbles in his way, and when he trips, catch him?" Hermione smiled, just a little. "Anyway, what was everyone's response?"

Hermione shook her head. "It wasn't a discussion, it was a visual simulation. That exact situation happened 17 years ago, with one of Voldemort's minions, and we both ended up with the same outcome. The Aurors yelled for him to put down his wand, but he kept raising his voice over theirs. Finally, he started casting a curse, and they killed him. His mother was screaming…and…"

"Oh...that's terrible," said Harry. Not to mention completely, totally preventable, if the Aurors had had an ounce of common sense.

Hermione swallowed, pressing a hand to her forehead. When she spoke, her voice trembled, "Maybe he was a bad person, and his death saved lives. I don't know. The other Aurors, they were talking about the incident, and I kept thinking, 'I could have saved him. If I'd been fast enough, or clever enough, or not afraid to get injured.' But everything was so tense, and happened so fast, I didn't think about it."

She moved her hand, her eyes red, tears spilling down her cheeks. "I'm not good at being an Auror, Harry. I keep making mistakes. But everyone is counting on me, and if we really do..." she bit her lip. "If the worst happens, then I should be there fighting alongside them. All these people look up to me, and are counting on me, but I'm so..." she hiccupped. "I'm so tired, Harry."

She started sobbing, and Harry reached for her. She buried her face in his robes, crying and shaking. Harry didn't know what to say, or what to do.

"I can't do this, Harry," she sobbed. "I can't."

He wanted to tell her she was wrong, to remind her how she could do anything she set her mind to. But some intuition told him not to say anything. He'd never seen her cry like this before, and he didn't know how long she'd been carrying this burden.

After a few minutes, when Hermione had calmed down, she lifted her face and wiped her eyes. "I must look awful," she said, laughing lightly. She looked down at his robes, grimacing. "I got your robes messy too."

She searched for her wand, but he placed his hand over hers. "I'll take care of it later."

Hermione glanced at him, a silent question. Then she leaned back into him, and his arms encircled her again. She rested her head on his shoulder, let out a sigh.

After a few moments, he said, "I'm not going to tell you what to do—I think that's your decision. But I know that whatever path you choose, you'll be more than capable. You're the greatest witch of your generation. By most standards, you're probably even better than me. And it's not just because you've got superpowers, or because you're intelligent. It's because you're dedicated enough that whatever obstacles you face, you will find a way to overcome them."

His voice softened. "But you aren't invincible, Hermione. You're still human, and you need to take care of yourself. Stop abusing your time turner, and get more sleep." It was a guess, but by the way she stiffened, he could tell he was right. "And when you're overwhelmed, ask for help. I'm your friend, so use me. I can take over your tutoring classes, or help you with your homework. And if you just want to talk, I'll drop everything to answer your call. So, please, let me do something to help you."

"Yeah…okay."

"Promise?"

"Yes," she said, then shifted to look at him, her eyes full of tenderness. "Harry, I'm…I'm really glad I talked to you about this. I was scared at first, because I thought you might not understand, but you really helped me." She sighed. "I finally feel like I can breathe again."

Harry's mind flashed back to when she shouted at him, pointing her finger and proclaiming, _'You're part of the problem!_ '

He frowned. "Why wouldn't I understand?"

"Well, umm…because we have different viewpoints about morality. I thought you might assume I was being too sensitive, or that I needed to be more rational. I was afraid you would just hurt my feelings."

That hit him like a kick in the gut. _Is that really how you see me?_

Hermione squeezed him in a little hug. "Thank you for being such a good friend. I don't know what I'd do without you." Then she tilted her head up and kissed his cheek.

Harry froze—it was so unexpected that he couldn't figure out the right response. He sat there like a robot, blinking, waiting for his brain to give him a command.

Hermione, sitting back on her heels, chuckled. "Darn. I was hoping you would say, 'No kissing.'"

With a jerk, Harry came back online. "Sorry to disappoint you. Maybe you should use a time turner and find younger Harry or something."

 _What…did you just say?_ declared his outraged brain.

She giggled—still close enough that she could kiss him again. It was making his stomach feel weird. He sat up straighter, and Hermione took the hint and leaned back to sit beside him. Harry got out his wand and cast _Everto_ on his robes. He didn't think they really needed it, but it gave him something to do.

Finally, the door unlocked, letting in pale rays of light from the grey afternoon. Hermione stood up, and Harry kept an eye on her, just to make sure she didn't collapse. "We're going to Madam Pomfrey," he said.

Hermione smiled and nodded. It was drizzling, and the grass was damp and slippery. Harry linked arms with her—he wasn't taking any chances.

Her smile grew, and she giggled again.

"What?" asked Harry.

"Nothing," she replied. "I'm just happy."

In the light, he noticed a glow to her face that he hadn't seen before. Harry figured if his friend could be happy, in spite of all the trouble that quest had caused, then maybe he wasn't so bad at comforting people after all.


	25. Twelve Days of Christmas

Chapter 25: Twelve Days of Christmas

 _Christmas Countdown: 12 days_

When Hermione came down for breakfast the next morning, the Great Hall was quiet.

Too quiet.

Hermione had been buried in her own problems the last few days, but even she knew what a mess the Hogwarts mealtimes had devolved into. It was like walking into the jungle during mating season. But this morning, almost everyone hunched over their plates with sullen looks on their faces, shovelling food into their mouths as if they couldn't even taste it.

Hermione's eyes swept the room for Harry, who sat by himself at the end of the Ravenclaw table, absorbed in a textbook. He didn't notice her until she took a seat beside him. His eyebrows rose a little in surprise, casting a quick glance at the Hufflepuff table before turning back to her. "Good morning. Sleep well?"

Hermione nodded. She had slept in the infirmary last night, and Harry had brought her food and stayed with her until curfew. She smiled, remembering how he'd worried over her like her mum, making sure she was warm and had enough to eat. Hermione could admit to herself that she still had feelings for him. But at some point last night, when the world was quiet, she'd realized that if they never became more than friends, that was okay too.

Hermione filled her plate with fresh fruit and pancakes. "Why is everyone acting weird?"

"They are?" Harry glanced around. "Oh, I guess they are quieter than usual. It's an improvement, at least."

"Well, maybe, but it's still odd."

Roger Davis sat a few seats down from Hermione. It took a few tries to get his attention, and when she finally did, he frowned. "You didn't hear? The Headmistress cancelled the Yule Ball last night, as punishment for the abuse of love potions." He picked at his food. "And now everybody is on their best behaviour, in case she decides to reconsider."

Michael took the seat beside Roger. "I'm actually relieved they cancelled the Yule Ball. My mom was mad at me for missing Christmas Eve with the family, and my date was suggesting we do something called 'cosplay.'

Roger snorted. "At least you had a date." He glanced over at Harry. "You didn't have one either, did you? It's probably why you don't care."

Without looking over, Harry said, "Oh, yes that's probably why."

"Now that the Yule Ball's cancelled," said Michael. "Slughorn's Christmas party is way more important. The professor relaxed the standards for attendance, but spaces are still limited, and everyone who's not invited is trying to be someone else's plus one. You and Hermione might want to be on your guard."

"Alright, I have a huge favour to ask from everyone," said Harry. "Call it a Christmas present, if you want. Love potions and Yule Balls were…fun, and all, but can we just leave them in 1995 where they belong? When I come back next year, I'd like to see people focusing on the important things, like preparing for OWLs, or at the very least the Triwizard Tournament."

"Oh right," said Michael. "Jeez, I almost forgot. When is the second task again?"

"In February," said Roger. "They have about a month to solve the dragon's egg riddle." He took a bite of his eggs, a smug grin spreading across his face. "Marguerite figured out the clue right away, without any help. She said the whole task would be, 'Easy as cake.' Well, she did ask _me_ for advice, but…"

"Dude, stop it, there is _no way_ Marguerite is talking to you," said Michael.

"Yes, she did! She's nice. She even promised that she'd go to the Yule Ball with me…well, before it was cancelled."

"Oh, now that's just bull—"

Hermione turned from their argument. Slowly, she pulled a list out of her pocket, clutching it between her fingers. "Umm…Harry." He turned to her, his lips still pressed to a cup of milk. "I thought about what you said, and I brought you a copy of my schedule. There's also a list of things you can help me with." Harry set the cup down and took the list from her, scanning it. "I sorted it into a table by level of importance—Low, Medium, and High—and I included instructions for each task, and umm…I don't expect you to do them all, but whatever you feel like…I guess."

She felt herself blushing, realizing just _how many_ things were on that paper. She felt like she was taking advantage.

Harry pulled a pen from his pocket, and started circling.

"I think I can help you with these," said Harry. "But I will need to borrow something from you. As for this one…"

Harry's eyes fixed on one item, and she could guess what it was before he pointed at it. "We can save that for after break," Hermione said.

* * *

 _Days until Christmas: 10_

"Hello, Professor," said Harry, extending a hand. "I don't believe we've been properly introduced. I'm Harry Potter, and I'll be filling in for Hermione today. How may I assist you?"

Tonks looked up at him uncertainly. She'd been warned that he was coming, which was why she was sitting at her desk instead of surrounded by a mess of papers on the floor. All the same, she still had her doubts about him. Plus, this whole arrangement was sort of…weird?

"Take a seat anywhere you like, Harry," she said. "Here's the stack of papers to grade, and this is the rubric. If you have any questions, please let me know."

Harry grabbed a sheaf of papers, walked over to a nearby student desk, and sat down to work. The next twenty minutes passed in total silence, the only sound the scratching of their pens. Tonks started feeling restless, even more than usual while grading. She kept glancing at Harry, who was engrossed in the process, a slight furrow of concentration on his forehead. She felt a little jealous—it took her weeks to figure out how to grade essays properly, but he hadn't asked her one question.

When he finished his stack of papers—completed in record time—he returned them to Tonks. "Anything else?" he asked.

"Umm…" She shrugged. "I'm almost finished with these, but there's still the quiz from last week." And the one from two weeks ago, but she was just pretending that one was a freebie. Everyone gets full marks, yay, no complaints.

Harry picked up the quiz papers, but then stopped. "Hermione came here a lot, and I'm assuming she did more than help you grade papers."

"Yeah, well, we talked and stuff, but I don't expect you to do that."

"I know, but…well, I know I can't actually replace Hermione, but I still want to make sure I'm doing this right. I would hate to hear later that I'd come across as standoffish or creepy."

Tonks sat back in her chair, frowning. She hoped Hermione hadn't told him about their _private_ conversation. "Don't worry, Harry, you're doing fine. Besides, anything you can do to help me make a dent in my grading would be beyond helpful."

Tonks often wondered—usually while grading, and often at 2:00 am on Monday morning—how the professors at Hogwarts kept up with it all. In Beauxbatons, there were two professors for each subject, which they only taught 4 hours a day, and they had a dedicated hour for tea time at 12:30. Hogwarts had the same number of students, but half the professors, and teaching 400 students a week was the _easiest_ part of her long list of duties. She didn't know how she would have made it through the year without Hermione's help.

The next hour passed in silence as Harry made his way through about half of her grading pile, which was jaw-dropping to say the least. "Wow, thanks! You're a life saver," she said, when he returned it to her. "How did you do that so quickly?"

Harry didn't hear her—his eyes had turned to the materials she'd set out for the next lesson. "Err…Professor, when are you going to teach us offensive spells? We've been learning shields since the start of the year."

"You know, it is called _Defense_ against the Dark Arts," said Tonks, quirking a grin. "Honestly, I'm trying to follow the Ministry mandated curriculum, and even if I skip the boring parts, it's still mostly shields and evasion tactics."

"I guess no one here has heard the phrase, 'The best defence is a good offense,'" Harry mused, running a hand through his hair. "Well, even if we can't learn offensive spells, we could find more useful ways to practice besides casting spells over and over."

"I see," said Tonks, leaning back in her chair. "Have you got any ideas?"

Harry thought for a moment before answering. "When Professor Quirrell taught here, he always challenged us to think critically about how we would face our opponents. Not that everyone needs to be coming up with creative battle tactics—some people just need to get the basics down. Even so, we don't want the students casting a spell just because it's the one we taught them, either. It might work in 95% of fights, but in that other 5%, it's going to get them killed."

Harry shifted on his feet, his eyes fixing on some far off point in the room. "I would have my students practice by splitting off into teams—the 'good guys' and the 'bad guys.' The good guys would practice the new spell, while the bad guys would be looking for ways to attack the opponent. It's actually similar to what you did during our first class, Professor. It would simulate a real battle, but would also help them to discover the weaknesses in their defence. Getting knocked down during a mock battle sticks in their memory a lot longer than hearing it in a lecture."

"That's a good point," said Tonks.

Harry nodded. "It could be a good motivational strategy, too. For example, in one lesson I'd start the class with a mock battle, and give them the stipulation that some students can't use their arms or legs. Then, I'd ask them what strategies they'd come up with to defend themselves, before starting a lesson on binding spells. At that point, the class is invested in learning not only the binding spell, but how to break it and how to fight around it."

"Wow, I'm impressed," said Tonks. "It looks like you've really given this some thought." She smiled. "Do you want my job?"

He quirked a grin. "Thanks, but uhh…I have a lot of other things on my plate right now, and I really don't have time for dark curses."

Tonks shrugged. "Fair enough, but at least consider hosting a study session. The students could learn a lot from you, especially things that I don't have time to teach them."

"Err…well…" Harry scratched his head. "We did try that a few years ago, but it didn't pan out for various reasons." He shrugged. "I suppose I could send out a survey and see if there's interest."

Harry's watch beeped, and he glanced at it while walking backwards. "Oh, shoot, okay. I've got to run, but I'll see you in class, Tonks—I mean, Professor."

He dashed out of the room, and Tonks got out her Auror mirror and called Hermione. "He's been downgraded from sociopath to stalker—no, that's as far as I'll go. Anyway, will you be sending him back next week?"

* * *

 _Days until Christmas: 9_

Harry sat in the library, gazing out the window at the first snowfall of the year, the little golden chain a familiar weight around his neck.

God, he had missed his time turner.

The potion that Professor Sprout brewed for him had taken care of his weird sleep cycle, but it hadn't prepared him for the loss of his prized possession. He felt a little like an amputee victim. In the months that followed, he often found himself reaching for it, and discovering it wasn't there.

But the best part was, Hermione had lifted the enchantment on it, so he could use it anytime. In the last few days, Harry had come up with at least six experiments he wanted to try and twelve ways to prank people, but he'd decided to keep himself on task. He would get plenty of time to use it to keep up with Hermione's tight schedule.

At around 2:00 pm, a few 7th years from Beauxbatons approached his corner. Uncertainly, they glanced down at his table's card tent, which said, _Welcome students, I'm Hermione_.

"Are you teaching English?" one of them asked.

"Yes, I am. Please take a seat," said Harry.

On the hour, Harry started his lesson. He didn't tutor often, but he was more than confident he could handle it. He taught science every week, after all, and he'd also mentored in duelling. Harry got halfway through explaining a grammar concept when he noticed his students' blank looks. They didn't understand him.

Harry tried speaking slower and with simpler phrasing, but how much could he simplify the past perfect? He'd thought they would at least be familiar with it, since it was in their 6th year curriculum. The lesson shifted into awkward conversation, with Harry asking questions and the students looking constipated while trying to think how to respond. Next time, he would have an article to talk about, and maybe some picture cards.

At around 2:40pm, Boris Krum showed up. He sat down at the end of the table, slouching into a chair and folding his arms. Harry set his jaw and sat up straighter. He would not let the Quidditch player see him floundering.

After the lesson ended, Boris remained behind as the others dispersed. "Where is Hermione?"

Three words. That's all it took to make Harry's blood pressure skyrocket. "She's busy," he said, a sharp edge to his voice. "I'll be taking over this class for a while."

"How long?" asked Boris.

"Let me see," said Harry, leaning back in his chair, stroking his chin. "We never came up with an official agreement, but I think I like teaching English. In fact, I may just teach all the English classes for the rest of the year."

There were a few moments of silence as Boris glared at him. "Hermione is a much better teacher than you."

Harry smiled, gesturing to the window. "Look outside, Boris. There's so much snow! Why don't you go play out there with the other kids? It's certainly a lot less mentally taxing than studying. It wouldn't do for you to get too smart, because then you'd start wondering why there's a Snitch in Quidditch, and then where would we be?"

Boris stood, the bulk of him rising to tower over Harry, a vein in his forehead pulsing as he stared him down. Harry met Boris's glare with his own, his anger chilled into a blade of ice. "You like big words," said Boris. "But you are a small man. My friends say you are dangerous, but I did not believe. You are just a weak, little baby."

"Your friends are quite perceptive," said Harry, letting the ice seep into his words. "And when I was a baby, I killed Lord Voldemort. Just imagine what I could do to a bottom feeding troglodyte like you."

Boris didn't flinch. "Hermione should not spend time with you."

"That's for her to decide. Now run along, before you get an aneurysm from all the big words."

Boris grinned, long and slow like the Cheshire cat. "I will not hurt you now, because I promised Hermione. But do not push me." His eyes glittered, and his breath was hot on Harry's face as he leaned forward. "Or I swear on my house that I will destroy you."

Boris turned and left the library, the door closing with a bang. As the ice left his veins, Harry felt himself shaking.

 _Congratulations,_ said Slytherin. _We have made our first mortal enemy. Nice work, idiot. I'm not the one who's going to have to explain this to Hermione._

* * *

 _Days until Christmas: 8_

Daphne shivered in the dungeons of Hogwarts, throwing her dark cowl over her head as she made her way down the icy corridor. At her side walked several more hooded companions, chanting in a deep monotone, all of them processing deeper into the darkness as the clock struck the midnight hour. Daphne bit her lip, trying to figure out how she'd gotten into this situation.

Well, actually, she _did_ know. This all started when she'd been caught bawling her eyes out in the Beauxbatons common room.

Somehow, in spite of Marguerite's guidance, things had gone from bad to worse with Neville. He'd gone from not knowing she existed to actively avoiding her. This morning, when Neville saw her in the hallway, he cringed and fast walked in the opposite direction. Daphne made it to the Beauxbatons common room before she broke down sobbing.

She felt someone press into the sofa beside her. "What's wrong?" Lavender asked.

When Daphne didn't answer, the girl pulled the crumpled paper from Daphne's hand. Blinking, Daphne looked up to see Lavender reading the crumpled invitation to Slughorn's Christmas party, understanding dawning in her eyes.

At this point, Lavender declared that she could fix Daphne's problem. She told Daphne to meet her outside the Slytherin dorms that evening. Desperate and a little curious, Daphne did as requested. At a quarter past eleven, she was met by three figures wearing dark cloaks, their cowls obscuring their faces. They carried unlit candles in their hands, along with several arcane spell books.

Daphne's shoulders slumped—she knew a prank when she saw one. "Just get the curse over with and leave," Daphne complained, already too miserable to care.

"What?" said Lavender, throwing back her hood. "We're here to bring you the guidance of the spirits. The cloaks are just because it's cold. That's why we brought you one too."

"Guidance of the spirits…?" repeated Daphne.

"Yes!" Lavender beamed, holding out the cloak. "Come with us, and we'll show you!"

Which is how Daphne ended up following the girls into the Hogwarts dungeons—the real one, not the fake Slytherin dungeon that was actually just a basement. It was so cold that Daphne could see her breath, and she had to step carefully to avoid ice patches.

"Umm," asked Daphne, dodging a falling icicle. "How much further?"

Still singing in chant, Lavender responded, "Twenty-one more steps."

Daphne set to counting, and precisely 21 steps later, Lavender swerved right and pulled open a large wooden door that was twice her height, the wood groaning at the movement. Daphne followed the girls into a warm room that was bathed in the glow of torchlight. Sage and cinnamon wafted from incense holders along the walls, and candles were placed on the floor at each vertex of a red chalk pentacle.

The two mysterious companions took off their hoods, and Daphne wasn't surprised to see that it was Parvati Patil and Luna Lovegood. Parvati was Lavender's best friend and partner in crime, and Luna was…kinda weird. She didn't seem to have a group of friends, but she would pop up randomly whenever strange things were going on, almost like she was causing them somehow.

"The Book of Life, Moon Goddess," said Lavender, extending a hand to Luna.

"As you wish," said Luna, who pulled an oddly bound green book from her robes. Daphne had to stare at it for a few seconds before she realized it was covered in leaves.

"Ruby Sorceress," said Parvati, in nervous tones. "Does the Book explain how to do the summoning if there's 4 people? It is a strange number for a calling ritual."

"On the contrary, Sky Maiden," said Lavender, flipping to a bookmarked page. "It is perfect. We have one for each element, and the fifth left empty for spirit."

"Okay, what's with the weird names?" asked Daphne. "And why is that book _moving_?"

Lavender smiled, turning the book to display the cover. "The leaves grow with the amount of magic in the room. The names are to put us in tune with the energy of the elements. You have a name of power too, and we will discover it in due time, if you wish."

"Uhh…" Daphne rubbed her shoulders, suddenly reminded that her warm, safe dorm was very far away. "I thought we were just going to gaze into a crystal ball or look at the astrology charts. Why do I feel like we're about to do a dark ritual?"

Parvati chuckled, and Lavender shook her head, giving Daphne a patient look. "It is impossible to create darkness from the union of the elements. They are the purest form of life. Now come, we must prepare to call the spirits. They will have the answers you seek."

The girls beckoned her over to the pentacle, where Luna had already taken her place in the upper left corner. "Daphne, you will go here, on the sign for Water. Think of the element flowing within you, and become one with your inner deluge of power. We will now begin the ritual."

 _This is so ridiculous,_ thought Daphne _. Lavender has officially lost her marbles. All we're going to do is summon a headache, and then I'm going to go back to my dorm and take a long, hot shower._

And yet, as the chanting began, Daphne reluctantly closed her eyes and tried to think of water. If there was even the smallest chance this could give her answers, then she couldn't waste the opportunity. It was sort of fitting, that the book was made of leaves. She thought that Neville's element would be Earth. She could be the ocean to his seashore, the rain to his forest. She smiled, and figured out the perfect name for herself—River Wanderer.

Daphne joined in the chant, feeling the water rising within her, calling to the missing element in their circle. Daphne sensed the brush of magic, an electric hiss that shocked her into opening her eyes.

The room had gone dark and cold, and there was an uneven shape growing out from the air in the fifth point. It was bright, as if it ate the light around it in its attempt to be born.

Daphne screamed, and stumbled back out of the circle. The girls gasped at the break in the magic, and opened their eyes to see the glowing thing collapse back into nothingness. The light in the room slowly returned, as if the fire had to learn how to burn again.

Daphne was breathing very, very fast, shaking and feeling as if she might cry.

"Why did you do that?" asked Luna, her voice soft as a whisper.

Lavender and Parvati, however, stood gaping at the fifth point with wide, terrified eyes.

"What…but the book said…" Lavender stopped, words failing her.

The scented air in the room was oppressive, tainted—Daphne would choke if she stayed a moment longer. She fled, wiping tears from her eyes as she ran. _That's it!_ she thought. _It's official!_ _I'm not dating anyone ever! If I need a date to Slughorn's party, I'll just bring my cat!_

* * *

 _Days until Christmas: 7_

Angelica Johnson sat in the library, huddled over a book she could barely understand. The golden egg sat beside her, its warped shell reflecting the glow of candles in the fading twilight.

She ran a hand through her hair, her forehead furrowed in frustration. She had searched every book in this section, but she couldn't find anything useful to complete her task. She wasn't even sure exactly what she was looking for. When she first got her egg, she couldn't figure out how to pry it open. So, since she found it in a dragon pit, she decided to use a blasting spell, but all it did was melt the egg and cave in half the side. It was only after she'd heard that her competitors had taken theirs into the bathroom that she tried plunging it into the tub. When it opened, the song was half-garbled, and she could barely understand.

The clue said something about seeking a treasure, but did that mean she needed a finding spell? Couldn't she just use "Accio blah blah?" And _where_ would the treasure be, for that matter? If she was supposed to dive into the frozen Hogwarts lake, she would need a powerful warming charm and a way to breathe underwater. But what if it was a riddle, and she was supposed to find the treasure inside her all along? There was no way to tell.

Annoyed, she tilted her head back, a hand over her eyes. Her competitors, as she'd learned, had figured out the egg's clue weeks ago, and come up with their own plans of attack. In fact, they had so much free time they were dating around and hosting ridiculous after school classes.

She wouldn't have minded being pushed to the limit—that was the point of this game, after all. But she didn't think she'd be struggling alone.

Something fell to the ground behind her, making a gentle thud. She turned back and saw a book lying on the floor, it's pages open to a diagram of a plant.

"Seriously?" she said, scowling into the empty air. "Who is doing this? I told you, I don't want any help!"

But the air remained silent—the cheating coward was using an invisibility spell. With a frustrated sigh, Angelica bent down to put the book back on the shelf, but her eyes caught sight of the diagram anyway. She felt a mixture of irritation and relief. It wasn't how she _wanted_ to find out, but at least she knew she was on the right track.

* * *

Commodore Price stretched his legs out, trying to get comfortable. He had paid extra for the legroom on the flight, but it still wasn't enough. A person with a particularly large luggage passed by, and he had to scrunch further into the seat to avoid getting his feet trampled.

He sighed and opened his magazine. After several months in a submarine, he was looking forward to getting away from cramped spaces. He would only have two weeks back home in London, and he planned to make the most of them. Taking walks around the city, visiting relatives, and playing with his son were on the list of things to do.

He was still struggling to get comfortable when a cart passed by him, loaded with drinks. A gorgeous brunette stewardess smiled at him, offering him a choice of beverages. It took a second for him to find his voice. "Umm…I'll have a glass of wine. Red, if you have it."

She nodded, pulling out the bottle. His eyes traced her fingers, so pretty and slim, like the rest of her...

"I see you're in the military," she asked. "What branch?"

"Navy," he said.

"My brother was army," she said, while he tried to stop staring at her legs. "He was injured in the Gulf War, honourable discharge. Let me know if you need anything," she said, with a wink.

"I…uhh…I will." She handed him the drink. "Thank you kindly, ma'am."

 _You have a wife, you have a son,_ his brain reminded him sternly as she walked away, but it's not like that stopped him from staring.

It was about an hour later when the brunette showed up again, and he had to admit, he hadn't stopped thinking about her the entire time. "Excuse me." She leaned down to whisper in his ear. "You have a phone call."

"I…I do?"

"Yes. Please come with me."

As if on autopilot, his legs stood up and followed her behind a curtain. They were alone, hidden from the rest of the passengers. He was shaking with nervousness, because maybe he did have a phone call, or maybe…

"Umm…I'm hoping I didn't give the wrong impression," he stuttered, not even sure what he was trying to say.

Suddenly, she was on him, backing him into a wall, and his entire body froze.

"I have several questions to ask you," she said, her manic gaze boring into his. "And you will answer them honestly. You have one minute to tell me everything you know about the Trident programme, including the location of every submarine under your command. You will also tell me what you know about the Ministry of Magic."

"Ministry of Magic?" he panted. "I don't know what you're talking about."

The gleam in her eye brightened, as if she wanted to devour him. "Oh, yes, you do, you just don't remember. But you will soon."


	26. Interlude: Dream Skewered

Dream Skewered

"Hermione, I just wanted to tell you, before it gets out some other way," said Harry, sitting beside her in his lab. "It turns out I'm gay."

She blinked. "Oh."

"I mean," said Harry. "It's not like I wasn't mentally prepared for this. I knew there would be a one in ten chance that I would have homosexual inclinations, and it turns out that I do."

Hermione took a deep breath. "Well, actually-"

"Hang on, you're gay?" asked Dean, who walked into the room, carrying a book.

"Yeah," said Harry. "It's not a big deal, but I thought I'd address it before it somehow got out into the open. I realized it after I kept having all those dreams about…well, about a certain person. I thought it was just suggestion from the tabloids at first, but I think after a month of dreams, I have to admit to myself that I'm probably at least bisexual."

"But…then, hang on," said Dean, frowning. "I wonder if that means I'm gay too. I've been having dreams about Seamus for a solid week now. And some of them aren't even anatomically possible."

"Me too!" cried Hermione. "Well, not about Seamus, but I've been having lots of dreams about people I would never actually sleep with."

"Like who?" asked Harry, with sudden interest.

"Well…Snape," said Hermione, blushing. "And Lucius Malfoy. And…umm…" she blushed even harder, speaking in a whisper. "Tom Riddle."

"Wait a minute, pause," said Harry, leaning almost entirely off his chair. "How—I mean—what could _possibly_ appeal to you about them?"

She glanced back and forth at the two boys staring at her. "I mean…they're intelligent, confident, and have sort of a bad boy mystique-"

"And I suppose being at least two decades older than you adds to the charm?" added Harry, folding his arms. "Now, I know that attraction isn't entirely logical, but you never even _see_ them, and I'm fairly confident and intelligent—"

"Wait—are you asking why I don't have dreams about _you_?" asked Hermione.

"Not…about me specifically," said Harry. "But why don't you have dreams that include members of the school? Statistically, proximity is what generates attraction, so when your brain is looking for a person to incorporate into a dream, it chooses people you see every day. Right, Dean?"

"Uhh," said Dean. "I don't know. I mean…sometimes that happens to me, but—"

"See, I knew I wasn't weird," said Harry. "It's perfectly normal to have dreams about all the girls at school, even if they're a bit older than you."

" _All_ the girls?" asked Hermione. "You dream about a different girl every night?"

Harry ran a hand through his hair. "Sometimes…not in different dreams." He waved his hands. "Listen, I had the same reaction as you, Hermione, but it's totally not weird. Evolutionarily, men were evolved to be attracted to a variety of women, and so even in monogamous relationships, it's normal to-"

"Harry, I don't think your harem sex dreams compare to mine, okay?" said Hermione, crossing her arms. "Half the time I don't want to be sleeping with the person in question, but they force themselves on me, and it's supposed to be romantic somehow? I mean, do I WANT to be imagining myself sleeping with James Potter in his Animagus form? No, I do not."

Harry's mouth hung open, and there was just no chance a response would come into his head about that.

"Man, I'm telling you," said Dean, rubbing his head. "Some of these dreams are just weird, and not the normal kind of weird. Have you guys ever heard about omegas? Please tell me I didn't make that up myself."

"Hey guys," said Luna, walking in. "Are we talking about the gross dreams now? Good, because that's all Ravenclaw has been talking about, and I have some questions. First of all, why do you keep featuring in most of them, Harry, and do you have an Animagus form that likes to slobber on people?"

"Okay, this is getting ridiculous," said Harry, standing up. "Let's go talk to McGonagall."

* * *

"So, I see it's finally happened, though not quite in the way I expected," sighed McGonagall, folding her hands together. "They're not just dreams, children. They're alternate timelines."

"Alternate timelines?" asked Harry, shifting forward in his seat.

"Yes," said McGonagall. "You see, we live in one timeline, but an infinite number of realities exist. Some of the timelines are very similar to this one, but in others live people with very different lives. As impossible as it might seem, I believe those are the people you're seeing."

"Does that mean there's a reality where men can get pregnant?" asked Dean. "Or where everyone is gay, including the Hogwarts castle and the squid?"

"Err…I suppose that's possible," said McGonagall, gazing at him with some concern. "I hope you're not still worrying about the strange things that happened last year, Dean. We agreed to put that unfortunate time behind us."

"How long will we have to put up with these dreams, Headmistress?" groaned Hermione, head in her hands. "I don't know about these two, but I'm getting sick of them."

"Well," said McGonagall. "Aside from the unfortunate events of last year, there are only a few days per year where we can glimpse the other realities. That would be the days leading up to Halloween and April 1st."

As the trio made their way back to the lab, Hermione sighed, "Tomorrow is April 2nd, so I really hope tonight is the last time I have to worry about this nonsense."

"That's what I used to tell myself every day last year," grumbled Harry. "And then I woke up, and my bedroom was made of prisms."

"Was that what happened?" asked Dean. "I thought our rooms were turned into a landfill, and we were ruled over by a giant, sentient pile of trash?"

"You know," said Hermione slowly. "At some point, we really do have to talk about what happened last year."

"I don't know," said Harry, looking uncomfortable. "There's a reason it's called the Year-We-Don't-Speak-Of. I wager some of us still struggle from PTSD after what happened."

"Whatever," sighed Hermione. "I'll see you guys tomorrow. I'm going to go drink some caffeine and not fall asleep."

As Hermione walked away, Dean turned to Harry. "So, how much you want to bet she's going to ask someone else besides us?"

Harry chewed his lip. "I'm almost certain, but I _really_ hope they have the foresight not to tell her about what happened on New Year's."

* * *

Author's Note: Okay, guys, so it's late but I had this idea and just had to. I bashed this out on the keyboard between work and doing more work at home. Hope it doesn't suck, but if it does, then stay tuned for regularly scheduled programming next week. Happy April Fools Day!


	27. Slughorn's Christmas Party

Chapter 26: Slughorn's Christmas Party

Days until Christmas: 6

The Weasley twins wandered back to their workroom, troubled expressions on their faces.

The cancelation of the Yule Ball had severely damaged their reputation. Many students blamed it on their love potions and demanded refunds for their orders. This week, the number of students attending their sale pop-ups had dwindled by half. They couldn't have that, not right before Christmas, when they should be making the bulk of their sales for the year.

Much of their unprotected stash of potions had been confiscated. This was expected, since it prevented the Headmistress from finding the rest of their product, hidden in a heavily warded room. Still, they were hurting from the loss, and Harry wasn't providing them with money or supplies.

They needed to do something, something big. They needed to get the students back on their side, no matter what the cost.

And then, at the same moment, they had an idea. They looked at each other and nodded.

It was time to get to work.

* * *

Hermione finished with Potions—her last class of the year—and did a silent cheer in the hallway. Then, she headed to the Bayesian Conspiracy classroom.

The room was empty and cold, which made Hermione feel sad. Normally, Harry would be wandering around, doing a bit of last minute research. She headed for the back, searching his bookshelves until she found what she was looking for. Carrying the musty tome, she took a seat at his desk, sinking into Harry's office chair—which was _nice_ , he didn't skimp on chair comfort. She got out her fancy new quill—a Speed Writer 1000 with the Blue Tipped Feather—and got to work.

A few minutes later, Harry burst into the room, his glasses askew, muck all over his robes.

"Hermione," he gasped, collapsing against a desk. "Is there any particular reason why you have 'feeding hippogriffs' on your schedule three times a week?"

She stopped dictating, but her quill kept writing, set to practice cursive on a spare parchment. "Oh…umm, well Hagrid needed someone to help feed the herd, since he's getting a little old to run after them during meal times—"

"And that's another thing!" he gasped. "Every time I tried to feed them, they _ran away_. Tell me, what's the evolutionary advantage in _fleeing_ every time someone offers you food?"

Hermione smiled. "You're supposed to chase them—it's one of their favourite games." Harry managed to look both confused and offended. "Anyway, Hagrid asked me for help and I said yes." She'd never admit it, but she wondered if part of the reason was because she enjoyed frolicking.

Harry, who had straightened his glasses and cleaned his robes, was giving her an odd look. "You know, there's a word in the English language that we use in those kinds of situations. It's 'no.' No, I would not like to help feed Hippogriffs, I have cats that need saving from trees." He shook his head. "Not to mention, that sort of work is incredibly draining. Flying after them left me magically _and_ physically exhausted, and I imagine your speed ability does something similar to you. You should save your magic for when you need it."

She sighed. He was right. "I'll take it off the schedule." _For now._

He nodded, then approached the desk. "What are you doing, anyway?"

"I'm translating these French spells to English, to say thank you for helping me." He'd been asking about it for a while, and she figured it was the least she could do.

"Oh," said Harry, watching her quill scribble cursive on a scratch piece of paper. "Thanks."

"You know," said Hermione playfully. "Maybe if you keep helping me, I'll even translate your Roger Bacon diary for you."

"That's okay, I already attempted that," he said, shrugging. "But the book defies translation. I mean, it literally scrambles every single one of my attempts, and I assume there's a charm on it, but…anyway." He waved his hand. "Thank you for the offer, but I will, of course, continue helping you for free."

She felt his presence as he hovered over her shoulder, then watched him pace back to the bookshelf, flipping through a book at random. She found her eyes drawn to the way the pale light brought out red tones in his hair, and wondered at how—in spite of their busy schedules—he always found a way to be by her side.

After a few moments of silence, Hermione mustered up a bit of courage and asked, "Do you want to go with me to Slughorn's party?"

He paused his reading, slowly closed the book. "Err…I thought we decided not to."

"I know, but Slughorn came to me today and said something about a giant chocolate fountain. Also, he suggested he would give us extra favours, the usual." She smiled hesitantly. "There's even going to be a live band. I don't know, I think it might be fun."

Harry rubbed the back of his head, and averted his eyes to the window. Hermione sighed, releasing the small bit of hope that had kindled inside her.

"That's okay," she said. "You don't have to go. I'll be fine by myself."

"Yeah, umm…okay. Sorry, I just don't like dancing." Harry shifted his feet. "But we should do something together over Christmas break."

Hermione grimaced. "I think that would be fun, but you know my parents still don't like you." It would take some convincing to let her parents give up family time to go out with Harry, especially since they would assume it was a date. She could already see her father getting out the dental drill.

"Yeah…okay," he said, shrugging. "Then don't worry about it."

* * *

Days until Christmas: 5

 _Wednesday, 9:00 pm_

Harry Potter sat on the floor of his trunk, folding his laundry to pack for Christmas break. Out of his dorm mates, he was the only one in dorms. The rest of the Ravenclaw boys were in the common room or Hogsmeade, enjoying their last night with friends.

Harry didn't think of himself as a boring person. He would have enjoyed a get-together if his friends invited him. He simply didn't want to go to a party with people he didn't like, and a host he could barely tolerate. He certainly didn't want to go if people were going to treat it like the Yule Ball and expect him to dance. Or worse, scream rabidly while the live band played Weird Sisters songs.

And yet…

Hermione and all his classmates were at parties, and he was alone in his room folding slacks.

He picked up a sweater, but didn't fold it. He wondered if she was having fun. Neville and Cho Chang were going, but what about the other guests? Did Hermione have anyone to talk to, or was she just sitting alone in the corner?

Setting the sweater aside, Harry stood up and looked in his drawer for dress robes. She would be surprised to see him, and maybe happy he'd changed his mind. Instead of dancing, they could spend the evening talking and eating chocolate covered treats. Though, if they started playing Weird Sisters, he was going to leave.

Happy with his decision, Harry got changed and went downstairs, passing his dorm mates having a heated conversation. He walked the five minutes it took to make it from Ravenclaw to Slytherin, and found the meeting room for the Slughorn's meetings.

It was empty.

Confused, Harry checked the invitation, and discovered that the party was being held in an undisclosed location. He had to arrive here for check in before 8:00 pm.

Fortunately, Harry had only used the time turner once that day. He pulled the little sphere out from under his robes, walked into a shaded alcove, and turned back time by 2 hours.

* * *

 _Wednesday, 7:00 pm_

When Harry returned to the meeting room, he found a crowd of people waiting in line to get in. At his turn, Harry entered to see a house elf checking invitations. Harry showed his, and the elf took his hand and apparated him to a coat check room. "Leave your over things here, if you want," said a server, wearing a maroon suit. "It's warm in the dining hall."

Harry opened the door to find a massive ballroom, almost as large as the Great Hall, whose vaulted ceiling imitated a quiet snowfall at night. From the windows, it appeared they were in a Hogwarts tower, a mysterious one that he had never seen from the outside. Rich green and silver tones dominated the colour scheme, and Harry vaguely registered that the decorations showed an impressive display of magic. He might have paid better attention, but there was a problem.

There was no sign of Hermione. He tried calling her on the Auror mirror, but she didn't answer. He looked over the heads of the students, searching for brown, curly hair, when Hannah Abbott approached him.

"Hi, Harry. Looking for someone?" she asked.

"Yes, Hermione Granger. Did you see her?"

"She was here earlier," said Hannah. "But she left with Boris Krum about fifteen minutes ago."

"What?" asked Harry, thinking he'd misheard. "Where did she go?"

Hannah pointed to a door on the opposite side of the room. "There's a stairwell that leads to a higher point in the tower. I don't know what's up there, though. Cho went and she's still not back yet."

Harry was struggling to reassure this brain that everything was alright. If Boris even tried to touch her, Hermione would break his hand and his face. Even so, Harry's knee jerk reaction was to turn back time and prevent her from going.

Unfortunately, he wasn't sure how to do that without causing a paradox. People had seen her leave with Boris, so he couldn't stop that from happening. It might work if he waited until _just after_ she left, and then followed behind and punched Boris in the face. There didn't seem to be much benefit to having a sworn enemy if he couldn't get away with that.

A terrified scream tore through the room, silencing the music. A girl fell out of the stairwell, clutching her chest. "Somebody help! There's—"

In a snap decision, Harry immediately did three things.

1) He cast a silencing charm, muting the sounds around him.

2) Made himself invisible.

3) Turned back time by 30 minutes.

* * *

 _Wednesday, 6:40 pm_

Harry blinked as the world around him finished rewinding itself.

He was surprised that had worked. The key to his successful jump was probably that he didn't know _why_ the girl screamed, which was why he'd cast the silencing charm in the first place. Paradoxically, the less information he had, the more likely he would be able to prevent it from happening.

…Of course, if he _did_ fix the problem, whatever it was, the girl wouldn't have screamed. He tried to remember her face, in case he needed to bribe her into doing it again to preserve the time loop. Come to think of it, maybe he could have memory charmed Hannah Abbott to tell him Hermione went up the stairwell, when she really didn't—

Harry spotted a girl with curly brown hair stepping through the doorway, Boris following behind her. His target acquired, invisible Harry slipped through the crowd of students, ducking around servers and guests. Then, without waiting for someone visible to help him, Harry opened the door and followed them.

Hermione stepped carefully up the spiral stairwell, which was so narrow and low that it seemed to be designed for children. Boris had to scrunch down just to fit. Reaching the open air was a relief, and she walked to the very edge of the balcony, her hands bracing against the icy railing.

Before her stretched the grounds of Hogwarts, covered in 4 inches of snow that glittered in the moonlight. To her right, the frozen black lake sprawled off into the distance. She'd read once that snow absorbed sound, which was why the world always seemed so quiet after a snowfall. Even the other people on the roof spoke softly, as if respecting the silence.

Boris came to stand beside her, leaning against the railing on his elbows. When Hermione ran into him at the party, he'd been hunched over in a chair and sipping punch, looking more depressed than she'd ever seen him. He'd asked to speak with her, suggesting they meet on the balcony.

Hermione turned and studied him. He had a faraway look in his eyes as he gazed at the moon. She thought to reach out and touch his shoulder, but it occurred to her that everyone on this balcony was a couple, and that made it weird. He was her classmate, though, as well as her student, and she wanted to help him. Things had been awkward between them at first, but he wasn't a bad guy. "Are you okay?" she asked.

Boris shrugged. "I don't know. I'm not happy about it, but I can't change the past."

"What happened?"

In that same tired voice, Boris said, "Ginny dumped me. She already has a new boyfriend."

 _I knew it wouldn't last!_ thought Hermione. She couldn't say that, though, it would just hurt him. "I'm sorry."

Boris leaned forward on the railing. "It was meant to end. I am not sorry." He was silent for a moment, gazing at the dark sky. "The stars are beautiful tonight. It is like the sky over my home in Bulgaria. Those thousands of lights brighten the whole world. It makes me feel like I am not alone."

Hermione thought she heard someone snort behind her. She turned to look, but there was no one.

She turned back to see Boris was rubbing his forehead, looking agitated. Hermione said softly, "That's beautiful. Whenever I miss my parents, I like looking at the moon, since I know they can see it too."

Boris smiled. "I always think of my brothers. Did I tell you about the time Victor challenged me to a duel?"

Hermione shook her head, and Boris continued, "Well, my brother always used to beat me at Quidditch, and then one day I got angry. So I gave him a special treat called Crunchy Frog." He paused. "Do you know what Crunchy Frog is?" She didn't. "It's just like a chocolate frog, but inside is a raw, dead, baby frog."

Hermione flinched away from him. "Eww! Why?"

Boris grinned darkly. "My brother said it tasted bad, so I told him it was English food." Hermione rolled her eyes, and he laughed. "Later, once my brother got out of the bathroom, he challenged me to a duel."

Boris went on to describe the duel, and Hermione was surprised at how funny he was. He was usually so quiet during their lessons, she'd just assumed he was the stoic, silent type. By the time he finished his story, Hermione was crying with laughter. "You boys are so crazy! I bet you have a lot of good stories."

"I do," said Boris, smiling. "I will tell you more of them sometime."

"I'd like that," said Hermione, turning to look out at the frozen lake. A few students were out late, walking in the snow, but from here she couldn't tell who they were. Hermione was distracted by Boris's gaze, which was still focused on her.

"Do you like to ski?" he asked.

"Yes," replied Hermione. "My family makes a ski trip every other year."

"I am going to a ski lodge with my friends over Christmas vacation. We will stay in a chateau in the Pyrenees, at my favourite resort. I host a party every year, as a gift to my friends. Will you join us?"

Hermione blinked in surprise, then shook her head. "It's nice of you to offer, but I can't go."

His face fell, his brow knitting in confusion. "Why? Do you have other plans?"

Hermione shifted her feet, averting her eyes. "It's not that, but…" She wanted to make an excuse, like her parents wouldn't let her go, but that didn't seem fair to him. "I don't know you that well, Boris, or your friends. I wouldn't feel comfortable."

"I see," said Boris. "Then, I hope we can learn more about each other this year. We can become better friends." His voice softened, turned into a question. "Perhaps then, over the summer, you could visit me?"

"I—umm…" Hermione bit her lip, feeling guilty. "Boris, I can be your friend, but I don't want to date."

He looked so crestfallen that it sent a pang through her heart. Part of her wondered if she had been too quick to turn him down. She could see herself sitting on his porch, laughing at Boris and his brothers' antics. She'd never had siblings before, and his family seemed like fun.

Boris sighed, running a hand through his close-cropped hair. His voice came out strained. "I know. I am sorry, but I don't know what to do. You have captivated me." His gaze studied her intensely, making her shiver. "You are so intelligent, and so strong. So beautiful." His hand reached up, caressing her cheek. She flinched, but didn't move away. "When you kissed me at the concert…"

Hermione had suspected for a long time that it was him, so that wasn't the surprise. But she didn't think she'd been so drunk that she had forgotten the other important detail.

"I kissed you?" said Hermione, blushing. "But I thought you kissed me."

Boris chuckled. "That's not how I remember it."

His rough hand cupped her chin, his other hand glided around her back. Hermione tried to remember if this felt familiar, but all she could feel was her heart beating very fast.

"I knew then," murmured Boris. "That there was something different about you. And I wanted more. Is there…some part of you that feels it too?"

Hermione opened her mouth, then closed it, her gaze falling to his lips. "Maybe," she said softly.

He had been her first real kiss. It should have been special, but it was only a half-forgotten memory with a stranger. And yet, he'd come back for her. He'd waited, nervous to talk to her, then sad when she turned him down, but he'd never stopped liking her. She'd pushed him away because she didn't think she could be serious with him, but maybe she was wrong. He might be able to make her happy, if she just gave it a chance.

Boris leaned down to kiss her, and she closed her eyes.

He gripped her neck forcefully, his lips smashing into hers all wrong. It was uncomfortable, greedy, and aggressive. She froze, her mind anxiously hoping the kiss would change, but realizing it wouldn't. She pushed him away, gently, then a little harder. He wrapped his arm tighter, as if he thought she was enjoying it. Hermione started getting irritated. She didn't want to accidentally knock him off the balcony with her super strength, but she would if she had to. One more push, hard enough he _should_ have moved away, but he didn't—and she was starting to get scared.

Suddenly, with a startled cry, he stumbled back into the railing, covering his nose. He stared at Hermione wide eyed. "What did you do?"

Grimacing, she wiped his spit off her lips, wishing she could erase the last 10 seconds. "Nothing. What's wrong with _you_? You were like an animal!"

His eyes narrowed, and he pulled his hands off his face to reveal a bloody nose. He whispered a word she didn't know, but she could guess. He jerked again, pawing at his eyes, and screamed, "Stop, you bitch!"

"Boris?" asked Hermione, starting to worry she had bewitched him somehow. "Are you alright?"

There was terrible screeching sound that made Hermione's hair stand on end. A blonde girl screamed and ran downstairs, her boyfriend following. Everyone else ran for the ledge and stared at the lake, eyes filling with horror and excitement.

"I don't believe it!" someone cried. "That's the Weasley twins, and that giant glowing monster is trying to eat them!"


	28. Monster

Chapter 27: Monster

 _Wednesday, 6:45 pm_

Ginny tapped her foot, wishing her brothers would quit acting like idiots.

"You do realize it's minus 14 degrees?" she said. "Nobody is going to come to your ice skating party."

"It's not _just_ ice skating," said Fred, driving a tent pole into the ground with a grunt. "When we're finished here, the lake will be transformed into a work of art. A marvel that you can see all the way from the dungeons of Slytherin."

"That's not a lake," corrected Ginny, pointing a finger at the offending construct. "It's a swamp. Filled with weird, glowy spells."

The twins sighed, continuing to cast their magic on the frozen swamp. "It's like you don't even hear us when we're talking, Ginny. This isn't just about making ice glow—it's an important message to the students of Hogwarts. Everyone will know what it means when they see it!"

Ginny sighed, wrapping her coat a little tighter around her paper thin dress. She knew she should be at the party, where her friends and her boyfriend were waiting for her. But her brothers had to choose tonight, of all nights, to put down _three_ enchanted swamps beside the Hogwarts lake, and set up a ticketing booth to rent skating supplies. Couldn't they have chosen yesterday, when it was only minus 6 degrees?

"We have space near the Burrow for a lake," pleaded Ginny. "Can't you wait just one more day?"

"Too late. We've already set up the fireworks," said George, driving in the second tent pole with a grunt.

Ginny stomped her foot. "You stubborn idiots! Oh, Mum is going to be so mad when she finds out!" With that declaration, Ginny spun around and trudged back to Hogwarts.

She'd been walking about a minute when a loud crack snapped through the air, as if a tree had fallen, shaking the ground beneath her. Ginny turned around, mind going blank with horror as a dark creature rose from the lake, clawing at the ice with its tentacles. It snapped at the air with its beak, its body writhing and ripping off chunks of ice.

"Blurrigroh!" The squid cried, in a voice so high pitched and alien it raised ever hair on her body. It spewed darkness all over the ice, its eyes wide and unblinking. Her brothers fled the bank, snow flying from their heels as they ran. The monster surged out of the hole, flopping onto the lake and screaming. "Blllurrriigroh Miiinnga!"

Ginny had her wand out, trembling in her hand. She felt so useless—would spells even work? What if they just made it angry? There was that binding spell, but she couldn't remember it. She could jinx the monster, but she didn't think bat bogey would slow it down.

"What the hell did you do now?" said Harry, who appeared as if from thin air in front of her brothers.

"We don't know!" cried Fred. "It agreed to be part of the show, but then it went crazy!"

"Oh, for crying out loud!" Harry rolled his eyes. "Is everyone in this school insane except me?" Then, he pointed his wand and shouted. _"Stupefy!"_

The squid slumped over, and the wailing noise mercifully ceased.

In a blast of wind, Hermione skidded to a halt beside them, spraying snow on the twins' robes. "Boys, the squid is really old, so we have to be careful with it…Oh, it's down already."

"Right," Harry said, his eyes locked on Hermione, his voice laced with sarcasm. "I saved the precious giant squid from frostbite, because that would be a tremendous tragedy, and now we just have to find Professor Sprout to take care of the rest. Speaking of which, she should be appearing in three, two…"

Professor Sprout popped into the area, aided by a house elf. "Oh, dear heavens!" she cried. "We need to get it back into water immediately! Hermione, I'll need your help. Everyone else, please stay back!"

The Professor used magic to open a circular hole in the ice, while Hermione used rope to pull the squid into the lake. She was having trouble—the squid's tentacles clung to the ice, like a tongue stuck on a frozen pole.

There was a fizzing hiss, and then everything went horribly wrong.

* * *

Mabel sat in the Slytherin common room playing cards, because there wasn't much else to do. All her packing was done, and in a day she'd be back home, listening to her parents fight and her baby brother scream around the house. But the Slytherin common room was warm and cozy, and she tried not to think of these things for the next few hours.

From the corner of her eye, she spied a flash of colour out the dark window. That was unusual, as the depths of the lake were usually completely dark at night. She turned on the couch to look more closely, pressing her face against the cool window.

She blinked as a glowing fish passed, it's skeleton visible through the light. A larger fish passed, swimming fast and directionless, zig zagging until it swam out of sight. A long, glowing tentacle slapped against the window, and Mabel heard a scream behind her, but she sat there, fascinated.

And then, something in the water exploded in a blast of light, scattering brilliant bits of glowing ice, plants, and fish into the water, like a giant sparkle globe.

That's when it hit Mabel that this was the perfect metaphor for her life. Even if it was a mess, it was beautiful. And someday, she would be able to build the life she wanted out of its shattered remains.

Whoever orchestrated this was a genius.

* * *

Hufflepuffs usually got ready for bed pretty early, but it was their last night before break, so the entire house gathered together to honour their 15 year long tradition of playing high-stakes Twister. Little electric buzzes arced over the mat, the players wincing as it shocked them.

The competition was fierce—Hannah was straining to keep her place on three dots across the mat, while Millie was bent over backwards to keep one heel on blue, forced into this awkward position by Peter's leg sweep attack. It was doubly painful because the board was currently zapping their feet, but it wasn't nearly so bad as the tickling spell earlier, which knocked at least half of Hufflepuff out of the game.

Cedric had decided not to play this time, since his muscles were sore from duelling and intense Auror training. But even though he was exhausted, he couldn't miss his last Twister game before graduation. He sat by the window, cheering on each competitor in turn.

Cedric had been training himself to look out for Suspicious Behaviour, so he was disappointed that it took him so long to notice that there were four lakes outside where there were supposed to be one. If he'd been in Ravenclaw tower, he might have spotted it faster. He was about to send a message on his Auror mirror when the four lakes suddenly lit up, a shower of bright jets spewing fish and sea plants into the air, then ripping them apart in a blaze of white fire.

Cedric sat there in shock—his brain refusing to believe what it was seeing. Who would even do something like that? How could something so awful look so…cool?

Then he squinted, as a message appeared about the water. "Is that…a song quote?"

* * *

The lead guitarist of the Weird Sisters stared out the window at the light show below him, a single tear falling down his cheek.

He'd had diner sandwiches named after him, tattoos designed with his face and guitar, and yet he'd never been so moved before by a tribute to his art. His one regret was that he hadn't been at ground zero when it happened. He wanted to give a nod to the person who had honoured his music in such a unique, meaningful way.

He wiped his eye, and turned back to the crowd.

"Alright, everyone, you heard the lake man—or woman!" He strummed a chord, kinda liking the idea of it being a girl. "'Let's get this party started!'"

* * *

"We're sorry!" cried the twins, falling to their knees in the snow. "Headmistress, we can explain everything!"

Harry listened to the twins' babbled explanation, but it was obvious to him what had occurred.

They had found a spell that imitated bioluminescence, dosed the fish in their swamps with it, and added the squid for good measure. At the same time, they'd set up fireworks that had launched prematurely. Some of the bioluminescence found its way to the Hogwarts lake, where, like cancer, it had spread to fish that weren't supposed to be affected. When the fireworks went off, a reaction between the two magics—or the gunpowder, or the explosive force, or some other variable—had caused every affected fish in the Hogwarts lake to blow up.

And really, Harry shouldn't be surprised. If he was, then it was his fault for thinking anyone could make normal, rational choices when presented with multiple options. Any _sane_ person would have tested their spells first to make sure there were no harmful interactions with other magics, or that their spell wouldn't spread like poison in a delicate ecosystem. If they'd at least foregone the completely uncalled for fireworks display, then the situation could have been salvaged. But no—they hadn't thought of these things, or even considered that their project could go wrong in any way. There was probably some psychological theory that explained their overconfidence, but he was just going to call it what it was—pure, unadulterated stupidity.

Honestly, the world would be a much safer place if the twins had just exploded along with the fish.

As soon as the fireworks show was over, and Harry was confident the Aurors and professors could handle the damage left behind, he walked back to Hogwarts. He was too keyed up to go to bed, so he paced the halls, wondering why everyone he cared about had to act like fools.

It wasn't long before he found his answer.

* * *

When Hermione surveyed the destruction occurring before her eyes, her overwhelming thought was: _And who's going to have to clean it up? This girl, right here._

It wasn't so much the dead fish debris she was worried about as the remnants of the twins' spell polluting the water. She was hoping that the Triwizard tournament preparations were still intact, but after what happened last time, they'd have to triple check to be sure. It would probably save them a lot of time if the Aurors cast the spells right before the tournament, just in case any more Gryffindors needed to explode the lake.

But just as she was about to get to work, a team of Aurors flew in overhead, their black robes billowing as they fired spells from their brooms. Tonks and Lee alighted near the lake, performing a complex web of enchantments that Hermione recognized as containment spells. When Tonks saw Hermione approaching them, she smiled and held out a hand like a stop sign, "Not so fast. We got this one, kiddo."

Hermione watched as the Aurors secured the area and began repairing the damage, the cascade of their spells blending to cover the lake in gold and blue. Some of the magic stretched to envelop a swamp, squeezing it down and vanishing it, while the rest healed the churning water. The Aurors worked together in a rhythm that showed how skilled they really were, and it still fascinated Hermione to watch the master Aurors at work. She hoped she would be just as good at the job someday.

It was going on 8:00 pm when she finally headed back to the castle.

On the way there, she grimaced up at the towers, remembering the situation she'd left.

Kissing Boris had been a stupid mistake. Looking back, she could see all the blazing signs of that, but she'd ignored them on account of being stupid. Anyway, she was going to put it behind her, and she hoped to go to her grave without anyone finding out about it. The last thing she wanted was to come to breakfast tomorrow to find her face and his plastered all over the Quibbler.

It was by chance that she found Harry, walking along the hallway that connected the Beauxbatons and Ravenclaw dorms. She suddenly found herself wanting her best friend to know, to commiserate with her over her poor decisions, maybe even tease her a bit for it. "Harry, wait up," she said, jogging over. He didn't turn to look at her, though, not even after she matched his stride and walked beside him.

She touched his shoulder. "Are you okay?"

He jerked away from her, turning to face the wall. When he turned back, his face was unreadable, his voice calm and cold.

"I was just thinking," he said. "And none of my thoughts are making any sense. Perhaps I was wrong about a lot of things."

Something was very off about him. He stood alone in the dark, coatless and pale with the cold, and yet he did not shiver.

"Talk to me," said Hermione, her body tensing at the hard edge in his voice. "I'll listen."

"Very well then," His gaze studied her, his tone business-like. "You like tests, Hermione, so answer this question. There's a man who keeps stalking you. Do you A, avoid him, B, tell him off, or C, go on a date?"

"What?" gasped Hermione.

Harry shrugged. "It's not a difficult question. Anyone with a rational mind could easily determine the correct answer. Now, question 2: suppose the man had just broken up with a girl, and then tries to kiss you. Do you push him off with your inhuman strength, scream for help, or let him continue?"

Hermione felt fear deep in the pit of her stomach. "You were spying on me."

He shook his head once, a sharp jerking gesture. "I was there to help you, but it turns out you can't save idiots from their own stupidity."

The pieces were falling into place, evolving into something dreadful. "You _hurt_ him."

"Did I?" he said, tilting his head slightly. "He was fine last time I saw him. He's probably at the party, with a new girl on his lap and fawning over him."

"Harry—"

"You know," he mused, as if he didn't hear her. "I always heard that women were attracted to men who treated them like dirt, but I never understood it until now. I _certainly_ never expected I'd learn that from you."

Hermione felt her face grow hot, the urge to defend herself rising. "Stop it, Harry! Stop trying to twist things around! You can't hurt someone just because you feel like it! And you can't stand there and preach at me like…like a jealous boyfriend!"

"Jealous? Ha." He folded his arms. "Fine, then let's be completely honest. Yes, I spied on you, and yes, I tried to save you by hurting Boris. I regret neither of those actions, and don't feel I should apologize. Now, I want you to be honest with me." The moonlight they stood in tinged his eyes a pale blue-green, his voice dangerously soft. "Did you want to sleep with him, Hermione? Was that why you were so eager to extend your friendship to him?"

Her breath left her in a gasp. "Harry, that's none of your-"

"Because if so," he barrelled on. "Your friendship is meaningless to me, as you'd give that honour to anyone." His tone shifted, lighter yet more cutting. "Voldemort was said to be quite handsome, in his day. Perhaps you would have befriended him, too."

Hermione flinched at the name, so shocked that she couldn't think straight. She wet her lips, her words finally emerging as a whisper. "How dare you—"

"How dare you!" he shouted, making her flinch back in fear. His voice was tense, his teeth clenched as he seethed. "You betrayed everything I knew about you. You acted like a complete fool, and even now you can't see it. I'm ashamed that I ever cared for you. You're not even trash—you're simply nothing to me."

Hermione felt tears prickle in her eyes. She thought she should be angry, to say something to make him regret his words, but she was scared. Something was _really_ wrong with Harry. He was acting like he owned her, like he had the right to punish her, as if he wanted to hurt her…

She caught a breath, and looked into his cold, burning eyes.

The next thought she had was that this version of Harry had already hurt one person tonight.

Hermione's back tensed against the wall where he'd cornered her. Her eyes flicked to the path to run past him, searching for exits and weak points like her training had taught her. He still hadn't moved, his eyes narrowing, as if daring her to try. She felt a cold wash of fear. She wanted to sound strong, but her weak, trembling voice betrayed her. "Let me go," Her voice cracked, the next word a sob. "Please."

"Stop crying," he said, his voice flat.

But her tears kept falling, the reality of what was happening hitting her. _Please don't make me fight you, oh please, Harry._

He rolled his eyes. Then, as if he was shutting the door forever, Harry turned and walked away.

* * *

Harry walked back to his room, lay down in bed with his eyes open, his covers up to his neck.

It took Harry about 3 minutes to return from his dark side, whereupon he immediately started freaking out.

He flung the covers off, scrambled out of bed, and stood up straight and unmoving for several seconds. Then he ran for the door, stumbled back, paced the room, and continued pacing before he cowered on his bed again. He was too horrified to even cry.

His brain split into opposing sides, which were attempting to debate, but ended up clamouring over each other in a panicked frenzy.

 _I made her cry and I hurt her and she'll never forgive me—_

 _Was that me? No, it was a false memory charm!_

 _Oh shut up, you don't even—_

 _Ha ha ha ha ha! She hates me! She'll hate me forever—_

 _Did you see the way she looked at me?_

 _I'm a monster._

Sometimes, he would just freeze for several seconds, contemplating with fresh horror something he'd said. Over and over, his mind raced in circles, wishing for some way to fix everything, but never coming closer to leaving the bottomless pit he'd dug for himself.

It was after Harry had paced the room for ages, and several of his dorm mates had told him to quit talking to himself and go to sleep, that Harry retreated to his trunk. He was seriously considering never leaving.

Harry had joked around that he was evil, or that he wanted to take over the world. But deep down he knew he was a good person. He could be a jerk, but he cared about people when it counted. He absolutely never hurt his friends on purpose.

But he had to face the reality that he'd broken his promise. His dark side had caused him to hurt someone he loved, for no other reason than because he wanted her to hurt. And if he compared that to known archetypes of human behaviour, the only word he could find was "abusive." In Wizarding Britain, they called them "Dark Lords."

He found a bitter irony in the fact that he had wondered how much pain he could inflict on Boris Krum before he became a Dark Lord, how much farther he could go. In the end, did it matter if he earned the title? The effect was the same. His actions had hurt Hermione, and had proved the Sorting Hat right.

It was at some point during the time where he was examining his food supply to determine how long he could survive in the trunk, when he mentally slapped himself. Enough wallowing in self-pity, it was time to examine the situation at hand. He needed to figure out why he'd hurt Hermione so that he could ensure it would never happen again.

Harry sat on the floor of his trunk and thought.

When he'd seen Boris kiss Hermione on the balcony, he had immediately and completely fallen into his dark side. Now that he considered it, this was the only time apart from the dementors where he didn't have full control of himself in this state. And Harry noticed he was confused.

His response had far surpassed the stimulus. If Hermione had been held at knifepoint, he could see why his dark side might take over. But a kiss? It wasn't pleasant to witness, but it didn't necessitate a full blown outburst. Yet, even now, he could feel the memory twisting his insides, like he'd drunk poison.

Hermione talking and laughing at Boris's jokes—his repulsive, stupid jokes. Boris staring into her eyes, touching her cheek, slipping his arm around her waist…

 _The response to an offending human's hand touching Hermione is for said human to lose their hand._

Harry frowned. His dark side hadn't gone away—it lurked at the edges of consciousness, threatening to return.

Swallowing hard, Harry asked his dark side a question. _Why?_

 _Because he is filth._

Harry knew this was the programmed response—an excuse to engage in behaviour that he would otherwise deem immoral, or at least questionable. He sensed that he was lashing out, for some reason he couldn't determine. He tried another tactic. _I sense you are afraid. Why?_

 _Hermione will betray me._

Harry frowned at this. Why was he so jealous? Was he…romantically interested in Hermione? But even jealousy shouldn't cause him to want to hurt her like _that._

Harry had to think about this for a moment before he realized the fear was tied to a particular memory, a small part of the conversation between Boris and Hermione.

 _Do you like to ski?_

 _Yes._

 _Come ski with me. Meet my friends. Spend the summer with me._

She'd told him no both times. And then she'd kissed him.

After that, the inevitable chain of events would lead her to fall in love with Boris, give up science forever and run away with him to wherever he came from. She wouldn't need Harry anymore, or think about him ever again.

 _And it's not fair,_ said his dark side. _Because I'm a much better friend than he could ever be. She owes me._

Harry stared at the wall for a few moments, contemplating just how messed up a rationalist's mind could get even if he was constantly policing himself.

It was insane. And yet, no matter how much he tried to convince himself that Hermione owed him nothing and that she'd never abandon science because she loved it too, he was still afraid. She'd hurt him, confused him, and made him angry.

His dark side had hurt her to protect him.

Trembling, Harry put his head in his hands. _How did I miss this?_

He had always seen his dark side as a necessary evil. He didn't know where it came from, but it was tactically useful. It helped him to make decisions in situations that he normally would be too scared or too inexperienced to know what to do. Since coming to Hogwarts, he had used it as a tool. Now, for the first time, he was concerned he had been feeding a demon all along.

The other fear, the one he couldn't bear to dwell on, was that maybe it wasn't his dark side anymore. Maybe this was just who he was.

He kept thinking back to how coldly he'd cross-examined Hermione in the hallway. He had not concerned himself with her feelings at all, neither her anger nor her tears. She had offended him by betraying his trust, and by doing so had lost all right to his concern for her. It was appalling how completely this dead feeling had filled him.

But in that moment, it seemed like she deserved it. He saw his feelings for her as an unnecessary distraction, since her behaviour had made her an irrational being. To preserve his calm he was prepared to excise her from his life if she did not listen to reason. To punish her, if necessary.

Punishment. His mind went completely blank in horror. How far would he have gone to do that? Surely not…surely he wouldn't have _really_ hurt her.

After serious thought, he exhaled slowly. No. He wouldn't hurt her, he was sure of that, even his dark side couldn't cause him to raise a hand against her.

But she didn't know that, and now she would hate him forever. Every time he saw her in the hallways, she would turn away in fear and disgust. He would become the story she'd tell her friends about, the awful boy who'd called her trash and made her cry.

Harry felt a sharp pang of fear. He couldn't _live_ with that.

 _If I apologize sincerely, and promise to do anything I can to make up for it, will she find it in her heart to forgive me, just this once?_

Harry was reminded of stories he'd read, of how abusers would bring their loved ones flowers, and promise to stop hurting them. But they never did.

Harry swallowed, hands gripping into fists. Saying sorry wasn't good enough. He needed to prove to her, and to himself, that he would never do it again.

 _Ahem,_ said Slytherin. _I have a rather good idea that should salvage the situation, but you must be prepared to take some losses._

 _Whatever it is, I'll do it,_ responded Harry.

 _Right then,_ said Slytherin. _I shall require a pen and paper, and most of your dignity._

* * *

 _August, 1991_

Tom leaned back in his office chair, gazing at the orb in his hand, at the sandy desert reflected there.

He was bored.

This was not unusual. He spent most of his time somewhere between boredom and anger, and it had always been this way. Ever since he was a child, there was never a time where he wasn't completely alone, surrounded by a sea of fools. Even now, as he was beginning a new journey, he found himself restless and impatient.

Boredom led to anger. In his youth, it escalated into uncontrollable rages, but he'd learned that there was power in being patient. He was always close to anger, simmering under the surface, but it was cold now. A weapon.

He heard someone knocking at the door, and he flicked his wand to let them in. He saw dark, curly hair, and immediately thought it was Bellatrix, released at last from prison.

Tom quickly put on a mask of indifference, as it would not do to show his distaste. It wasn't that he disliked Bellatrix, but that she always gazed on him with such devotion. She was not worthy of receiving what she wanted, and she never would be, but some part of him always wished she was. That instead of a sycophant, he could have an equal.

Sometimes, thinking on the unfairness of it—that this was the way the world _was_ —made him incredibly angry. In spite, he'd resorted to testing the limits of Bellatrix's patience with him, to see what would break her. But as much as he tore her down with insults, used Crucio on her just for fun, she came crawling back wanting more. It was fascinatingly pitiful, and he had learned that this loyalty had its own uses.

The dark haired woman strode inside, jewels draped down her neck and glittering against her fingers. The woman was darker than Bellatrix (Indian? Polynesian?). Her dress was dark red, embroidered and stitched with scenes of warhorses, charging into battle.

Tom raised an eyebrow. Definitely not Bellatrix, then. She was gaudy, too much, but he wondered at why such a spectacle would enter his office. It could be interesting.

She strode to within several feet of him—the exact length of a duellist's stance—and then stood regarding him, hands folded. Tom remained seated, examining her carefully. It was beginning to dawn on him who she might be.

"Tom Riddle," she said. "I believe you have something of mine."

He tossed the glass ball into the air, caught it.

"Perhaps you've got the wrong office? My name is Quirinius Quirrell."

"You're lying." She levelled her defiant gaze on him. "You stole his body, just as you stole the life of David Monroe. Not to mention, slaughtering thousands and terrorizing the entire Wizarding world. _Lord_ Voldemort."

She gave a mock bow, and he was intrigued. He had taken great pains to hide his true identity, and the fact that she'd seen through them all meant the reports of her brilliance were not overstated.

"Believe what you wish," he said. "But if I am such a monster, why are you alone in my office?"

"You have something that belongs to me," she said, nodding at the glass ball in his hand. "I've come to take it.

He tossed the ball into the air again, let it hang there, caught it. His eyes never left hers.

"I found it at an archaeological dig, broke its enchantments at great cost to myself," said Tom. "I have use for it. Why should I give it to you?"

Her dark brows raised, he would almost say flirtatiously. "Because I already have you cornered."

Tom froze a fraction of an instant, weighing her words. Then, he smiled.

"All those years I asked to see you, and you denied me. Now, here you are, fair Priestess." He rose from his chair. "Well, well. If I had known you would visit me in person, I would have prepared refreshments for you. We could have discussed many things together, shared knowledge of ancient and lost lore. As it is, I am just finishing packing up. I've accepted a position at Hogwarts as the Defence Against the Dark Arts Teacher, and they expect me within the hour."

The Priestess folded her arms. Neither of them had yet made a move, but he could feel intense magic building in the air. Her garish jewels, even a fool could surmise, were not just for decoration. Once the fight began, it would be brutal, and he did not wish to lose this body yet.

"I'll make you a deal," the Priestess said, leaning against his desk. "Hand over what you stole from me, and I will not torture you for wantonly murdering the man who held it."

His lip twitched. "Was he important? He seemed quite old and decrepit, which everyone knows is an invitation for dark wizards to come in and take what they please."

She glared at him pointedly, letting him know he was crossing a line. He switched tactics.

"You've thousands of magical treasures," Tom went on. "Collected over centuries, some of which make this glass globe look like a parlor trick. Does it _really_ matter to you that I give it back? So much so, that you're willing to take the risk of confronting me directly?"

He suspected more than he was saying, of course, but he kept that carefully in the back of his mind, away from prying eyes.

"Tom." The Priestess's gaze weighed heavily on him. "I know how dangerous it is in your hands, and I will not be responsible for the deaths of thousands."

 _Ahh, so that's it. She's playing the hero. The question is, at what level?_

Tom shrugged artfully. It worked better in his original body (more good-looking) but it still seemed to disarm people now.

"Maybe so. Here is my counteroffer." He set the globe on the desk before her, equidistant between them. "I will return this to you, and then I will grant you a proper duel, where you may attempt to destroy me as heroes do. But I've a small condition. It's a meaningless concession, if I am to die or be Obliviated."

She raised her eyebrows, and Tom had her right where he wanted her. He painted on his most innocent, open expression.

"What can you tell me about the Philosopher's Stone?"

* * *

Author's note: Well...here it is. Hope the fallout isn't too severe, but you know I had to do it to em.

This week's chapter is a double post. Keep reading for chapter 28.


	29. Restitution

Chapter 28: Restitution

* * *

Author's Note: 04/22/19 was a double post. Make sure you read the last chapter before continuing.

* * *

 _Days until Christmas: 4_

 _Thursday Morning_

Minerva heard a quiet tap at her office door at 7:00 am.

"Come in, Harry," she said.

He entered, shuffling in and closing the door behind him. At least he was punctual, unlike most students who came to her office in the morning. However, this was probably because he'd been awake since 5:00 am, which was when he'd contacted her to ask for a meeting.

He approached her desk, his hands holding a pen and paper. His eyes were downcast.

"What can I do for you, Harry?" she asked.

He lifted his head, stiffening as if preparing for a bracing wind, and said, "I've come to apologize."

She blinked. "For what, exactly?"

His mouth twisted bitterly, but he continued. "I apologize for how I acted in your class when I made the huge beaker of water. I'm sorry for using my apology to you as a way to get out of trouble, rather than being sincere. I'm sorry for assisting the Weasleys with making love potions, since I was too scared of losing our partnership to do the right thing. I'm sorry for every time I've been an annoyance to you, for whatever reason. Did I miss anything?"

Minerva sat there, her jaw dropping, but she couldn't seem to move. After a moment, she cleared her throat, "Not that I can recall."

He held out the paper, and Minerva took it. Along the top, he had written "Plaintiff" and "Restitution." He took a breath, held his head high, and said, "You may write on there anything you think I deserve for punishment."

Minerva set the paper down. "Harry, I'm not going to punish you. That has already been taken care of."

She still felt a little guilty about using Mad Eye, but it looked like it had the desired effect. Yet Harry wouldn't accept the paper back. "Please write something. It will set a good example for the others."

"Others?" she asked in disbelief. "Harry, what are you going to do with this?"

He looked down, his voice bitter. "I have to fix things before leaving Hogwarts today."

Minerva observed Harry, who was clearly uncomfortable with this situation, yet was still humbling himself in front of her. She could only think of one person who could prompt Harry to do this, and he must have messed up pretty badly if this was his solution. Normally, she wouldn't dare punish a student twice, but in this one case, she would make an exception. "You have one day of detention," she said. "To be observed with me after break."

After writing it down, she gave the paper back to Harry, who looked it over and nodded. "Very well, then. I accept. Thank you, Professor."

"Harry," she said, as he turned to go. "You'd better hurry. The train is leaving at noon today."

* * *

Neville had woken up early for Leaving Day breakfast, and was just heading down when Harry found him.

"Neville, please wait," said Harry. "I need to talk to you."

"What about?" asked Neville, who was a little apprehensive. When Harry was this keyed up, he usually wanted something from Neville, and he'd hoped to make it to the end of the year without any more plots.

"Remember that time I took you up in the air on the broomstick and almost dropped you? Well, I wanted to give you a formal, sincere apology for that. I also wanted to apologize for that time I broke your charmed item, because I can't remember if I did yet."

He hadn't, but Neville hadn't realized that until just now. "Okay, Harry, that's fine. Water under the bridge."

"Also…umm…there was the time I accidentally revealed secret information to you, and then memory charmed you afterwards. It was just the one time, and only because it was necessary, but I didn't even ask, really, so…I'm sorry."

Neville should have been surprised, and maybe a little mad, but this was just something he'd come to expect with Harry. "Alright. Thank you for telling me."

Harry handed Neville the paper, and he looked down at it. Harry clicked the pen and gave it to him. "Write down a suitable punishment for me beside your name, please."

Neville was silent a long moment.

"I feel like this is the time to tell you," said Neville quietly. "I was the one who stole your Star Wars figurines. And then I sat on them and they got smashed. Sorry."

Harry gave Neville a carefully controlled blank look. "It's…fine. Just write, quickly, I have more people to talk to."

* * *

"Ha. I never thought I would see the day," said Ginny, leaning back with a grin. "So, you're finally apologizing to me?"

"Yes. I'm sorry for not being more considerate of your emotional state when I Apparated you to the wilderness. I'm sorry."

Harry stood in front of her in the Great Hall, facing the Gryffindor table. He didn't really want to do this in front of everyone, but he figured he'd be apologizing to the majority of the 5th years sooner or later, so it didn't matter much.

Ginny turned to Romilda, who sat beside her. "I don't know, how should I punish him?"

Romilda grinned. "One of your signature hexes, maybe? You could try out the new one."

She shook her head. "No, I could do that without his permission. This has to be something good." Ginny tilted her head, finger grazing her lip. "I've been thinking that I could use your help with something. Do you have political aspirations?"

"No, not really."

"Oh, good. I'm planning to be the next Minister of Magic," said Ginny. "I'm glad I won't have to worry about having you as an opponent."

Harry appraised her. He realized that it might not have been by chance that Ginny was best friends with Susan Bones, the niece of the Head of the Wizengamot, and Romilda Vane, a future reporter for the _Daily Prophet_.

"Go for it," said Harry. "And I suppose your platform will be how to hex young girls?"

Ginny smiled. "Of course _not_. I'm only hexing the ones who break the rules. When I become Minister of Magic, I'm going to make sweeping changes, and I'll need the support of influential people. Can I count on your vote?"

"Umm…" said Harry. "It says in the rules at the top of the page that the punishment can only affect me negatively. Like, for example, you can hex me, but you can't ask me to hex someone else. So, I can't in good conscience commit to supporting you until I'm certain I wouldn't be promoting a tyrant. But if I do agree with your policies, then rest assured, I'll be voting for you anyway."

Ginny frowned, biting her lip. "Alright, then. How about this? Since you had me do something to assist with your experiments, then how about you assist me with a monetary donation?"

"That falls under the same umbrella as voting would, but also there's a 'no asking for money' clause in the rules."

"Let me see that paper," said Ginny, grabbing it from Harry's hand. She and Romilda poured over it together, a few other Gryffindors looking on. Dean and Seamus had switched seats to be closer to the action.

Ginny sighed in frustration. "Your rules are so particular. They rule out all the actually useful stuff." She shrugged her shoulders. "Well, I suppose I'll just have to kiss you."

"What?" balked Harry.

"You heard me," she said, flipping her hair over her shoulders. "I'm writing it down now. I want one kiss, and not a peck on the lips either. Kiss me like you mean it."

Romilda was snickering, and a few other Gryffindors were elbowing each other and laughing. Harry frantically wracked his brain to find a way out of this, but it actually wasn't against the rules. He hadn't thought, he honestly hadn't even considered that he would need a "no kissing" clause.

Ginny stood up, grinning. "Well, get over here, Harry."

" _Now_?" he asked, backing up into the wall.

She nodded once, decisively, and the Hufflepuffs had turned around to see what the commotion was about. A few of the Gryffindors were whistling and egging Harry on. Someone started singing "Kiss the Girl" from The Little Mermaid, and others joined in.

Harry had never felt so much shame as when he walked around to the other side of the table, the Gryffindors whooping and hollering, and he could tell by the noise that even the Ravenclaws and Slytherins were in on it now. This had to be the worst, the absolute worst thing—

There was one thing left to save him. "Wait, Ginny, what about Boris?"

He had a suspicion that Boris had lied to Hermione about breaking up with her, but his hopes were dashed when Ginny rolled her eyes. "I dumped him hours ago. He's a lying cheater, and I'm done with him."

Harry did not like the look in her eyes.

"I hope you're not plotting revenge," said Harry. "She didn't know, honestly."

Ginny sighed, looking a little irritated. "Fine. But only if you're halfway decent." She put her arms around his waist, pulling him close, and Harry—who was already sweating and probably looked a mess and had he even brushed his teeth?—went for it before he could psych himself out.

After the longest, most stressful ten seconds of Harry's life, he broke free of the kiss. Ginny stumbled back, coughing, then mimed putting a finger down her throat. "Uggh, were you trying to punish _me_?"

The next thing he heard was laughter. Harry felt an ugly knot of humiliation in his stomach, but he shoved it down. "It was a sincere apology, Ginny," he said, his voice somehow coming out level. "I hope my social embarrassment was everything you hoped for, or at least enough to compensate for the unpleasant sensation."

The laughter escalated, while Ginny didn't even bother to look at him. Swallowing, Harry turned and walked out of the room, shouldering past Dean and Seamus when they tried to talk to him. Stumbling into the hallway, he found a corner and hid there for a while.

* * *

"Say I'm better at dueling than you," said Roger Davis.

"You're better at dueling than me," said Harry, without much emotion.

Roger sat on the Ravenclaw couch, irritated at Harry's lack of consternation. He'd come to Roger around 10:00 am and said he was there to apologize, and Roger had gleefully rubbed his hands at the chance to make Harry eat some serious crow. But it looked like someone else had already taken all the fight out of Harry, which wasn't _fair_.

"By the way," said Roger. "I was the one who jinxed your closet. Now say I'm smarter than you."

Harry's eyebrows moved up slightly, which was a start. "Did you really?"

"Yup."

"How?"

"Not telling," said Roger, smugly. "Now tell me how you stole my secret, and don't leave anything out."

Harry sighed, long and loud. "I put a listening device in your clothes, and then spied on your conversation with Cho Chang. I only went to such lengths because my first attempt failed, though I can't tell you what strategy I used for this part."

Roger had thought long and hard on how Harry had done it. He had a theory, but to test it, he would need to make sure that Harry didn't find out he was a Legilimens. As he was thinking this, he watched the boy blink just a little before his gaze turned inward, presumably hiding his thoughts.

 _Gotcha._

Roger grinned. "Very well then. Now say I'm smarter than you."

Harry grit his teeth. "You're…you're…" He stopped.

Roger's smug grin widened. But then, Cho Chang came in through the portrait door, and Roger decided it was time to be diplomatic. "Now, now, Harry, don't strain yourself, I was only kidding. Now, for my final request, I'd like you to please apologize to Cho Chang for how you treated her."

Harry turned to Cho Chang, his eyes softening. Roger also turned to look, and saw Cho Chang's eyes were red.

"Cho!" cried Roger, leaping to his feet. "What's wrong?"

"Oh? Nothing," she said, with a sad smile. "It's silly, I'm just crying because Cedric gave me a gift and…I don't know..."

It hurt, hearing her talk about him, but he kept the concerned look on his face. "Okay, well, I'm glad nothing's wrong. If you ever need me, you know…"

She smiled—he couldn't help but think out of pity—and turned to Harry. "So, I'm next?"

"Err…yeah," said Harry. "Sorry about getting you involved in a plot with Roger."

She half-shrugged. "It's okay. I was upset when I found out, but it's fine now. Just don't do it again."

"Okay," said Harry, his eyes shifting to new students who'd entered the room. "Hey Anthony, Michael, I've come to-"

"Apologize?" chuckled Anthony, plopping on the couch. "Yeah, we heard."

"Everyone did," said Michael. "What'd ya do to us, Harry?"

"Uhh…I don't actually remember, but I know you were involved in one of my plots. I'll just write your names here." He glanced around the room. "And yours too, Terry."

"Don't worry," said Terry. "If it was the 4th year, it doesn't count."

"Besides," said Michael. "As long as you didn't hurt anybody, we know you probably had a good reason."

A conflicted look crossed Harry's face, and now Roger wished he was a real Legilimens so he knew what Harry was thinking.

"Well, uhh…" said Harry. "I'll just write the names here and let me know if you think of anything later."

* * *

At 10:30 that morning, Harry rushed outside. He could have turned back time to make it easier on himself, but he didn't want to relive any of this morning.

He didn't discover until it was almost too late that the visiting students were departing before the Hogwarts train. Many of his classmates were outside, waving them off, but Harry didn't see Hermione. He'd heard that the Aurors and their trainees wouldn't leave until the evening, anyway.

It wasn't hard to spot Boris Krum, though, due to the tidal wave of cheers that his presence caused. Harry wondered how many of Krum's adoring fans knew he was a terrible person and just didn't care.

Harry took a deep breath and tried to calm down. He couldn't go dark in front of Boris. If he did, he wasn't sure he'd be able to stop himself from trying to Accio his spleen. If Harry had the option, he would have put this confrontation off forever or until both of them were old, like 35, when Harry was a successful scientist and Boris was a washed out old Quidditch player.

Steeling himself and thinking peaceful thoughts, Harry approached Boris. "Hello."

Boris didn't acknowledge his presence. Instead, he waved to his fans, accepted a cup of hot cocoa, but did not drink it. He nodded at their protestations of eternal love and devotion, and their declarations of how much they'd miss him. Then, he threw his half-eaten doughnut into their midst, and they scrambled after it. Leaving them in chaos, Boris vanished the cocoa, stuck his hands in his pockets and walked with smooth strides over to Harry.

"What do you want?" he asked.

Harry opened his mouth, then closed it. "Umm…"

Boris folded his arms, waiting. He knew what Harry was going to say.

"I'm—ssssss…"

Boris raised an eyebrow. "Should I call Madam Pomfrey?"

Harry sighed. _Just bite the bullet, pretend you're saying something else._ "I'm sorry."

"I didn't hear you," said Boris.

Harry was going to _murder his face off_. He was going to—

 _I'm surrounded by a calm, peaceful night sky, with the moon, stars, and the soothing song of the planets._

"I'm sorry," Harry said a little louder.

"For what, exactly?" said Boris. "And let me see that paper."

Harry, with the grace of a robot, handed him the paper. Boris read over it, his lips quirking at some of the lines. Later, after all this was over, Harry was going to _let the murdering begin._

In the calmest voice he could, which still sounded dark, Harry said, "I'm sorry for spying on you, punching you in the face, and trying to blind you."

Boris's expression revealed nothing, but Harry was hoping he'd shocked him. _Yes, it was me, I was the one who did that to you. Scared yet?_

Harry thought of Hermione crying in fear, and his mind went blank.

After a long moment, Boris handed back the paper, "It's fine. I will give no punishment."

Harry slowly took the paper. "Are you…sure?"

Boris nodded. "You helped me, actually."

"I…did?"

Boris smiled. "Besides, in the end, you'll get what's coming to you, whether it's by my hand or not."

"So…" said Harry, not sure if that meant Karma or some ominous warning. Almost by reflex, Harry cast _Legilimens_ , but Boris's gaze revealed nothing.

"Goodbye," said Boris, inclining his head. "See you next year."

* * *

 _Thursday, 11:15 am_

Hermione sat on the floor of Tonks' room, surrounded by tissues and two empty boxes of Oreos. A book lay open in front of her. The title was, _Anger Management: A Practical Guide._ It wasn't helping her understand what happened as much as she hoped it would, but it did take her mind off her anxiety.

Last night, she'd spent hours huddled in the library, buried in a pile of books. Some incessant part of her brain had told her she would find _something_ here to help Harry. But even as she read, she struggled to focus, her body tensing at every noise.

Tonks came to find her 1:00 am, at which point she burst into tears.

Hermione went with Tonks and cried for a while, eating Oreos and talking and trying to figure out what went wrong. And Tonks, who was the best friend ever, didn't say "I told you so" even once. She listened, and hugged her, and let her sleep beside her in bed.

Tonks had some leaving day duties scheduled for the morning, but she'd let Hermione stay in her private room. When Tonks came back with breakfast, she told Hermione that something weird happened at the Great Hall, and Harry was running around with a paper and following people's orders. Hermione was almost relieved to hear that Harry was causing chaos. Some part of her had feared Harry was just going to stay evil forever.

The door opened, and Tonks slid in without opening it all the way, shutting it behind her. She stood there, leaning against the door. "So, Harry is being a pest."

"What? Why?"

"He said he wants to see you. He said he's willing to wait until you are ready, but he won't leave the hallway. Hogwarts students are supposed to be boarding the train right now, and he said he doesn't care if he misses it."

Hermione stood up. "How does he…" She swallowed. "Is he angry? Sad?"

Tonks glanced at the ceiling. "Uhh…I think he seemed more exhausted than anything." Tonks looked at Hermione for a moment, then said gently. "What do you want me to tell him?"

Hermione walked to the door, looking out through the peephole. She could see him sitting on the floor, one hand rubbing his forehead, the other holding a crumpled piece of paper. When she pulled away from the door, she realized she was shaking again, and she couldn't figure out why.

"I can make him leave," said Tonks. "I can tell him you'll think about talking to him after Christmas."

Hermione shook her head. "No. I want to see him now."

She moved for the door, but Tonks stopped her. "Wait here. I need to talk to him first. I'll send him inside after."

Hermione watched as Tonks went outside, stood over Harry and delivered her message. She couldn't hear through the doorway, but Hermione could guess that it was a big sister type of speech. Something like, "If you hurt her, I'll take your bones out, break them, and put them back in the wrong places." Tonks had suggested that last night, actually, before admitting that would be too much work for someone like him.

Harry, who was standing now, lowered his head and nodded. He didn't look angry anymore. He actually looked slightly relieved the more Tonks spoke to him, as if he _wanted_ her to yell at him. After a few moments, Tonks came towards her, Harry following. Hermione backed away from the door as Tonks opened it.

"I'll give you a few minutes," said Tonks to Harry. "But remember what I said." She turned to Hermione. "I'll be just outside."

Tonks left, and Harry pushed open the door, not closing it behind him.

They stared at each other in silence.

Hermione wanted to speak, but her throat squeezed down her words. She had spent the whole morning running over and over what she would say, but her mind went blank now that he was here.

"I'm—" Harry faltered, his voice catching. He swallowed, looked away, let out a shuddering breath. Finally, he turned back. "I'm here to apologize."

"Okay," said Hermione softly.

"You probably are really mad at me, and you have every right to be. It's okay if you want to be mad at me for all of Christmas break and January, or however long you want to be. In fact, I don't care what you want me to do, I'll accept any punishment. I have a list, umm, actually, and you can write it down."

"Wait…what?"

Harry extended the crumpled list, with columns filled with names of her classmates. His eyes were timid, fearful, and his speech was very fast.

"I spent the morning trying to apologize to everyone. To prove to you that I'm really sorry, and not just pretending to be. Anyone can say they are sorry, but I wanted you to know I mean it not just this time, but forever, that I'm sorry and won't ever do it again."

Hermione scanned the list, and saw that he had the names of most of Ravenclaw, Ginny Weasley, Marguerite Valentine, and several younger students on there. Some had given him punishments, others had left theirs blank. Hermione's eyes stopped when she saw Boris Krum as the very last. His space was blank, too.

"You did this…just for me?" said Hermione.

"Yes, but…not only for you. I had this idea for a long time, and I didn't understand why I couldn't do it until now." He hesitated, rubbing a hand through his hair. "I expected that people would like the chance to take their revenge on the Boy Who Lived. They would want to get something in return for what I took. If someone came to me with a list, I would at least consider how to use it to my advantage, even if I wasn't upset about what they did to me."

Harry frowned, his gaze introspective. "Some of the people did write a punishment, but most didn't. They told me to forget about it. They thought I was being silly, but they didn't want anything more than an apology, and I realized that there's something wrong with me." Harry looked at Hermione. "I don't relate to people in the normal way. I use them, even people I consider my friends. If I manipulated them, or hurt their feelings, it didn't matter as long as I thought it was justified. But these people, they see me as a friend. As an equal. And I…I don't. It was only after I hurt you that I could even find the motivation to apologize to anyone else."

Harry paused, and then said softly, "I don't know how to change this about myself. I don't even know how to start. But I wanted to tell you, so that you know not to take a single thing I said to you yesterday as having any merit whatsoever. I don't have the right to judge you, or to force you to do anything. What I said and did was terrible, wrong, and I'm sorry for all of it. I'm sorry for accusing you, and hurting you, and calling you names. I'm sorry for making you feel scared." His voice caught. "I'm sorry for making you cry."

He stopped talking, rooted in place at the sight of tears slipping down Hermione's cheeks. She brushed them away.

"I'm…I'm sorry," he said again, his voice hoarse. "Please don't be scared of me. You can hate me for a little while, but please not forever. I—I don't know what I'd do if you didn't forgive me." He hesitated, struggling with his next words, then said, "Even though I'll…try my best to understand, and give you space…if you don't want to."

Hermione didn't say anything, and she could see his face starting to crumble, waiting on pins and needles to be rejected. Hermione looked at his list again, where her name resided at the very top. She felt his eyes on her as she hesitated over "Restitution."

She thought of casting _Incendio_ , burning the list to ashes. It would help alleviate his guilt, and prove she'd forgiven him. But…it wasn't that simple, this time.

"Harry," she said gently. "I don't want to punish you either, but just apologizing to everyone, telling me that you had a revelation about yourself, it isn't…" She hesitated. "It's not going to…buy me back."

She raised her eyes to his, and saw him staring at her in terror. She didn't want to hurt him, but she needed to say this, "You really, really scared me, Harry. You were vindictive and cruel, and I thought you wanted to _hurt_ me. I know you have a dark side, but please don't give me that excuse. It's not enough. I want to know _why_ you were so angry at me."

"I…I don't…" He steeled himself, his voice plaintive. "I asked myself the same question, and my brain told me something irrational."

"Let me guess," said Hermione, her voice much calmer than she felt. "You thought I belonged to you. You got mad at me for kissing Boris, because that was not allowed, so you decided to punish me for it."

"No!" cried Harry. "I would never…I could never think that! Not really!"

"Then why?" said Hermione.

Harry ran both hands through his hair, and when he spoke, his voice trembled.

"I was scared he would take you away," he said. "I was scared he would make you into someone like him, and you would forget all about me, and then you would never want to talk to me ever again and I'd be alone forever."

Hermione's jaw dropped. "That's crazy."

"I know!" cried Harry. "My feelings for you are completely irrational and don't make any sense whatsoever! I don't want you to belong to me, but I don't want you to belong to anyone else either. And I get so insanely jealous and I miss you all the time and I don't even have any idea why!"

"Harry," she said. "Breathe."

He tried out her advice, while she thought very hard about what to say next.

If Harry was anyone else, she would assume he was in love with her, but Harry's devotion to her had always been complicated. Even if he _did_ like her, she wasn't sure she wanted to open that can of worms. She didn't need a boyfriend that would hex any guy who looked at her for more than two seconds.

Hermione gazed at the boy she _should_ be furious at...but strangely, she wasn't really. Maybe it was the sincerity of his apology, maybe it was her annoying crush that wouldn't go away, but all she felt was a sense of relief and mild affection.

But regardless of how she felt now, she couldn't just forgive him and go back to normal. He'd basically attacked her, and that wasn't something she could sweep under the rug. If it happened once, then it could happen again.

The thought was sobering. And yet, somehow, she found that she cared more about what that meant for his future, than for hers.

Hermione bit her lip, considering what Tonks told her last night. She said that if you're going to keep Harry in your life, then he needs to know how you expect your relationship to be. Because if what they had right now was confusing to Hermione, it was probably doing the same thing to him.

Hermione reached out to him, a fleeting look of surprise on his face as she took his hands and clasped them in hers.

"You're a good person," she said. "I firmly believe that with all my heart. I'm not mad at you about what happened. I know that people make mistakes, and I really appreciate that you're trying to make up for them. But something like what happened with Boris can never, ever happen again. I need you to trust me to make my own choices, even if they end up being mistakes."

"I won't do it again, and I do trust you, Hermione. I-"

She squeezed his hands. "Let me finish. I want to be your friend, Harry, but I think we need to set some boundaries. First, we need some time apart. I don't think we should do the Hogwarts quests for now, and I don't want you to help me with my schedule anymore. It's my job, anyway, and I should be able to do it myself. If I do have any trouble, you can help me by bringing me chocolate chip cookies." She smiled. "Once we get back from break, if I feel ready to see you again, I'll try to make time to spend with you at least once a week. What do you think?"

He nodded slowly. "If that's what you want." He disengaged his hands from hers, and pulled the time turner off his neck, offering it to her. She slipped it around hers. Then they stood there, looking at each other again. Outside, there was a warning whistle.

"Oh, that's right," said Hermione. "You have to go to Hogsmeade."

Harry glanced at his watch. "Oh…yeah, I guess."

Harry didn't move, though, just stood there concentrating on the floor. He looked serious and sad, and she got the impression that everything wasn't okay.

Tonks opened the door. "Time to go, Harry."

Hermione hesitated a moment, uncertain if it was okay, then moved to his side. "I'll walk you down."

* * *

Harry didn't know what to say to Hermione as they rode the coach back to Hogsmeade. He could tell, by her anxious glances, that she was worried something was wrong.

As was her way, she kept trying to get him to talk about it. It was stressful, because he still struggled to understand it himself, and could not find the words to tell her. But at the same time, it was comforting to know she worried just as much about him as he did for her. He told her more than once that everything was fine, and that he wasn't upset, just thinking. She hugged him at Hogsmeade station, and he said he would call her on Christmas.

Harry found an empty car on the train, closed the door, and stared out the window.

He had worried so much about her forgiving him, that he hadn't stopped to think he might not be able to forgive himself.

Hermione was right to stop the Hogwarts quests, since after what he'd done, they shouldn't be alone together. It was also right for her to take back the time turner, since he'd proven himself unworthy of it. But it hurt him somewhere deep inside to know he'd lost the privilege, that he wasn't reliable enough to help her. It almost felt like he was on probation. One more wrong move, and everything would be over.

There were a lot of negative thoughts running through his mind. Ginny's kiss was one of them—that still stung a lot. So did his last conversation with Boris, which hadn't ended well. His classmates in Ravenclaw, who even after five years, he still barely knew. His broken partnership with the Weasley twins, who'd been his friends since his first day in Hogwarts.

 _Just a thought_ , said his brain. _Have you considered that our negative cognitive loops might be due to exhaustion? I think a nap might be in order._

Harry blinked slowly, watching as the train car started up and the station began to fall away.

Harry had always believed he was meant for something important—that someday, he would be the one to lead humanity to its new home in the stars. So it struck him as ironic that, on a personal level, he wasn't really fond of the section of humanity that he had regular contact with. He didn't dislike them, for the most part, but they frequently annoyed him. So, either the problem was 99% of the world, or it was him.

He could still feel Hermione's warm hands pressed into his. _You're a good person. I firmly believe that with all my heart._

Harry watched the world pass by, the words galvanizing something in him.

He wanted to change, to be a better person. He wanted to be the leader that he'd dreamed of being. He wanted to prove Hermione right, to make her smile.

His eyes closed. He was going to make a plan.

As soon as he woke up.

* * *

"Excuse me," said a timid voice, tapping his shoulder.

Harry opened his eyes and saw a very nervous second year Gryffindor carrying a package.

"I was told to give this to you before the train stopped," said the boy. "It's from the Weasley twins."

On the package, written in bright gold letters, were the words DO NOT BURN OR SHOOT GUNS AT.

Now _Harry_ was very nervous. He took the package, debating how much caution he ought to take with it before opening. It occurred to him that he hadn't seen the boys all morning, and he had a sinking feeling.

Harry eventually decided on opening the package facing away from him, just in case some nonsense powder fell out and turned him into a canary or something. He deposited the contents of the package on the seat. Inside was a small box and a letter.

Harry opened the letter first.

 _Dear Harry,_

 _Perhaps you already know that our great head of house, in an act of vengeful wisdom, has expelled us from Hogwarts. We honestly can't say we didn't see this coming, and it's not like we were learning anything in class anyway. Not sure we would have bothered to show up for NEWTS, either, so it's probably all for the best._

 _We wanted to let you know that we're setting up a shop in Diagon Alley, and thanks to our accidental stunt, we've already got backloads of orders, so we'll be able to return your investment funds within the next month. We thank you for all your support, and we could never have done it without you. We wanted to give you one last gift before we go. It's a prototype, but I think your group might enjoy playing with it. Whatever you do, don't make it explode (unless you want to, but we don't recommend)._

 _Cheers,_

 _Fred and George_

With great trepidation, Harry opened the box.

It was a small, black canister that looked suspiciously like a grenade. Harry read the little paper inside.

 _Light Bomb_

 _How to use:_

 _Tap the button at the top of the canister twice, and say your name._

 _Throw at person who you want to escape from._

 _Run away._

 _WARNING: DO NOT USE WHILE FIRING WEAPONS OR EXPLOSION SPELLS._

So, as it turned out, Harry was holding a grenade that was pretending not to be a grenade. Fantastic.

He heard a sound at his door, and his instincts warned him that being seen with a weapon on a train was a very Bad Idea. He didn't have time to hide the box with its suspicious contents, so he shoved everything he could into his pockets.

And then he remembered.

But by then, it was too late.

"Light bomb," said Harry to his pocket, frantically.

Of course, his hand came out empty. The storage pocket _never_ worked when he needed it to. Of _all_ the days to be wearing this robe…

"Black canister."

"Stupid Weasley invention."

"GAHHHH!"

* * *

 _August, 1991_

"Quirinius, are you quite alright?" asked Dumbledore, eyes wide with concern.

"I am as well as to be expected for an adventurer," Tom replied, struggling to compose himself. "It will not affect my teaching."

"Well," said Dumbledore, rising from his desk. "Let me know if you need assistance. We have a store of medicines, and-"

"Thank you, but all I need is a bit of rest. It has been a long day. Excuse me."

Tom Riddle left Dumbledore's office and walked down the hallway, seething with rage.

 _"-Far too full of yourself," the Priestess said, standing over him. "And I don't quite trust you around children."_

 _Her curse crashed into him before he had a chance to move._

 _Stupid, stupid!_

He'd done his best to mitigate the effects, but it wasn't enough. He had one year before the curse would leave him a mindless sop.

His teeth clenched, but he forcibly stilled his rage into clarity, control.

Well. One year, then. He supposed he would have to make it count.


	30. Merry Christmas

Chapter 29

 _Days until Christmas: 3_

When Harry arrived in King's Cross station, he saw his parents waiting for him. His mother hugged him fiercely, while he squirmed his left pocket away from contact. He had a nice dinner, then went upstairs and ransacked his trunk in search of the light bomb. He spent all of that night on this mission, as well as much of the next day, until his mother dragged him downstairs for family time.

After a fairly predictable adventure about what happens when you leave children home alone, his mother tried to wrangle personal information about of Harry. "You never tell me what happens to you anymore," she complained. "Your letters have been so few and far between."

"That's because my daily life is fascinatingly average for a wizard, and not worth discussing on a regular basis," said Harry, staring at the movie credits. "I'll summarize by saying my classes are going well, no one's died yet this semester, and socially I remain as antisocial as ever."

"Well, but…what about Hermione? And the Tri-Wizard tournament! Tell me about that."

"The Tri-Wizard tournament is going so slowly that half the time our school forgets it's happening." Harry was silent for a moment as the cassette ran out, the screen flickering to black fuzz. "As for Hermione, she's…" He shrugged, the words sticking in his mouth. "She's fine."

"Harry," She sighed in exasperation, rubbing a hand through her hair. "I swear, it's like pulling teeth, for both of you."

His dad left during the movie to answer a phone call, so he wasn't here, but Harry could put two and two together.

"Umm…" Harry brushed his foot against the carpet. "How about this? I'll tell you about school later, Mum, when I'm feeling up to it. Meanwhile, why don't you tell me how you've been?"

* * *

 _Days until Christmas: 2_

On Saturday morning, Harry wandered downstairs, hoping for a chance to use his computer. He was expecting messages from a few physics professors, who he'd contacted about questions he couldn't find the answers for in books.

Unfortunately, his mother was talking with his aunt over the phone, so he couldn't use the Internet. His father was already using the TV, so Harry decided to play some games.

He still had a lot downloaded from when he first started playing with his computer, and his mother had bought a few more. Harry's favorite was SkyRoads, a game where he made a ship jump around on landing pads until it reached the goal. He'd never beaten the last level, though, which rankled him enough that he decided to load it up.

A few minutes into the game, however, he lost interest. It wasn't that the game wasn't fun, he just kept comparing it to the Hogwarts quests. And that reminded him—for the thousandth time—of what he'd done to lose them.

He was just turning the game off when his father entered the room with his car keys. "Want to take the car for a spin?"

Harry jumped out of the seat and grabbed his coat. Hermione had told him that she was going to study the Highway Code over summer vacation so she could take the written test. And while Harry couldn't do anything about being younger, he had decided that, the day he turned 17, he was going to ace his driving test on the first try, despite the 50% pass rate.

But when Harry got in the passenger side of the car, he noticed something was wrong. "Dad, why aren't we going towards the parking lot?"

"We've got to do something else first," said his dad, hands tense on the steering wheel.

Harry had a terrible sinking feeling. "No."

"Yes," replied his father grimly. "Tomorrow your Aunt Milly is coming to visit."

Harry groaned. Aunt Milly—who was really his cousin, but about a decade older than him—lived in a nice house with her husband in Northumberland. And ever since she'd gotten married, every visit between the two families came with Expectations.

When Harry and his parents visited Aunt Milly, they had to be the Perfect Family. It was one time where Harry was not allowed to be annoying in any way whatsoever. Once, he'd made the mistake of sighing loudly, and his mother gave him a look sharp enough to cut Adamantium. He'd decided from that point on he was better off not breathing.

But now, they were coming to _his_ house, which was the embodiment of a nightmare.

His father fished a note pad from the center console, passing it to Harry. "We've got to get flowers, ingredients for pot roast, glass cleaner and shoe polish. Also, I've got to get boxes for all the books. Harry, start writing things down."

"Dad!" Harry was beyond irritated. "This is mum's feud, so why can't _she_ be doing these things?"

"She's cleaning the house," said his father bitterly.

Harry shut up immediately. He did not like being around when his mum was cleaning. She became the task master, and he the slave. Nothing he did was right or quick enough for her standards, and heaven help him if he even dared to _stand still_.

"I believe," said Harry. "That tomorrow I shall be very sick, and I won't be able to leave my room all day."

"No, you shall not," said his father. "That's very disrespectful to your mother." He was quiet a few moments. "But we will go get some ice cream afterwards."

* * *

When the man and the boy emerged from the store, they felt like they'd stepped out of a warzone.

They'd had to travel to six different stores in their exhausting search for all the required items. Each place was packed with last minute shoppers, pushing and shoving each other in the aisles and holding up the line to count out pennies. Babies screamed in shopping carts, department displays had been knocked over and stepped on, and everyone looked as stressed and desperate to get out of there as Harry felt.

But finally, they had completed their harrowing journey, the trunk laden with supplies. Harry's father had asked him if he still wanted to practice driving, but Harry shook his head. He felt too stressed out to be in control of a giant metal machine.

They were now at the gas station, and Harry was standing beside the magazine rack. He was supposed to pick up an ice cream, but he would wait until his dad got back inside, in case it melted. So, he had been wandering, looking at this and that, when he spied a magazine cover with Hermione on it.

As he turned to look at it, he realized it _couldn't_ be Hermione, because it was a Muggle store. And a few seconds after that, he realized the Hermione look-alike barely wore anything at all.

His face went hot. He felt like he should place his hands over the photo, cover her up. Harry didn't _want_ to look, but it was hard not to out of sheer shock. It was in his efforts not to stare at the cover that he realized how many other dirty magazines this store was selling. Apparently, this store served a lot of lonely people, or perhaps college students.

Harry had never bought one, but his dorm mates looked at dirty magazines all the time. Harry had peeked at a few, just on curiosity...and decided he should stay away from it.

He wasn't sure about the morality of it, but his observations of how it turned normal males into slobbering idiots was not encouraging. It seemed like a huge time sink. Moreover, he knew he had sort of an…obsessive personality when it came to certain things, and he didn't want that addiction to be the one that stuck.

His father called from the sales register, "Harry, let's go."

He jerked, turning aside and trying to pretend he'd been looking at the window the entire time. "Coming, Dad," said Harry, and ran off to get his ice cream.

They bought the ice cream, and then went back to the car. It was still a bit too cold for ice cream, but it had been their way of bonding since he was in primary school. Also, neither of them were in a hurry to get home. So, Harry wasn't surprised when his dad kept the car in park and said, "How's school?"

Harry knew he couldn't pull the same act he'd done before—for one thing, his dad wouldn't buy it.

"Academically, it's going very well," said Harry. "I'm going to start studying for the OWLs soon."

His father scraped at his cup of fudge swirl. "Do you have a girlfriend?"

"Umm…no."

"I see. Do you fancy someone?"

"No! Dad, okay, if this is about the magazines, I swear I wasn't looking at them, I was just contemplating while staring in the general direction…"

His father quirked one eyebrow and smiled, which was his version of a laugh. "I only asked because I wanted to know more about your personal life. What are your plans for after graduation, for example?"

Harry wondered if this was his father's real goal—talk about the girlfriend first to make it easier to ease into this question, which seemed benign in comparison. But, in reality, he knew his father worried a lot about his future."

"Will you attend university?" asked his father. "Does the wizarding world have one of those yet?"

Harry shook his head. His one attempt to start one had been a failure. Firstly, because he was twelve and had no real life experience about starting schools. And secondly, because the wizarding community was so small that it was more feasible for companies to hire apprentices and train them on the job.

"Will you be working in a magical profession?" asked his father. "Because if not, we will need to start considering other options for your higher education, besides self-study."

"I know, Dad," said Harry. "I'm still working out the details, but by the time I graduate Hogwarts, I plan to have a career in a field that utilizes both science and magic."

(Though, now that he wasn't collaborating with the Weasleys, he would have to find another way to fund his project. Maybe he could use his fame, get involved in advertising or a book deal? Or maybe he _should_ go to university and study, it would be difficult to get scholarships if he waited…)

Harry felt a pang of fear. As confident as he was in his abilities, he hadn't made much progress in achieving any of his goals yet. He wanted to explore the stars, needed to discover immortality, and both were incredibly daunting tasks. His research plan felt less like an uphill climb, and more like a long, winding road off an unseen cliff. If he wasn't extremely careful, then he could waste his time and achieve nothing. He needed to consider which of his alternative options would be most likely to bring him short term success, in case his ultimate goal took a great deal longer than expected.

He saw his father giving him a knowing look.

"It's a difficult decision," he said. "I'm sure magic complicates things even more, and with so many choices, it's not easy to decide what you want to do. You don't need to figure it out alone. If you need my advice, please ask me."

Harry nodded. "Thanks, Dad." He thought for a moment. "Can I…ask you for advice on one thing? It's non-academic."

"Sure," said his father.

Harry took a deep breath, stared out the window. His father waited.

"I...kind of messed up. With Hermione." A bit of his ice cream cone dripped onto his hand. "I…uhh…I got mad, beat someone up, and said some mean things to her."

"You beat someone up?"

Harry winced at his father's disapproving glance. "Not my proudest moment."

His father didn't respond for a few seconds. "Did you apologize?"

"Yes," said Harry. "To both parties. Hermione forgave me, but I still feel awful about it." He sighed. "I read that guilt is useful for preventing recidivism, so this might be a good thing, but it's still extremely confusing. I don't know _why_ I said those things to Hermione, or how my rational judgment became clouded to that extent." Harry frowned. "Then again, Hermione confuses me on a regular basis, and I still have no idea what to do about that."

His father smiled. "Well, that's normal, and I'm sorry to say the confusion doesn't ever go away completely. Just try your best to be understanding."

"What do you mean?" asked Harry.

"When Hermione does something that makes you feel upset or confused, try to understand your own feelings, then try to understand hers. It's difficult at first, but it's worth the effort."

Harry thought back, realizing there were times he _had_ done that and gotten it right.

"What did you buy her for Christmas?" asked his father.

"A book," said Harry.

His father turned on the car. "Well, this is just a suggestion, but sometimes, you need to buy her something besides literature."

"Yeah," sighed Harry. "I was thinking that too. A physics book doesn't quite say, 'I'm sorry for being a jerk' like chocolate does." Harry watched the road as they headed home, feeling apprehensive. "I've decided maybe I would like to practice driving after all."

His father raised an eyebrow again. "No matter how long we take, your mother will still make you clean, you know. And we do have frozens."

Harry groaned. "Fine, but this dinner better taste like ambrosia for all the work we're putting into it."

* * *

 _Christmas Eve_

"Twenty carats! It's the most beautiful necklace I've ever worn, and Karen said…"

"He says that the tailor won't be free until February, but his brother might have an opening…"

"Did you grow them yourself? My husband does the weeding, but I do everything else…"

Harry was sitting up straight on the couch, stuffed in a suit he hadn't worn in two years, struggling to sip tea. He had long since checked out of the conversation, only catching snippets as his mind wandered. When his father excused himself to prepare more drinks, Harry's eyes followed him, feeling betrayed.

After tea time was finished, Harry was forced to sit through the meal, which was just as stiff and annoying. He didn't say anything, just quietly ate his pot roast as the conversation droned on around him.

"Milly, you won't have any wine?" asked his mother.

"Oh, well actually," said Aunt Milly, smiling at her husband. "We have some news."

Moments later, the whole table erupted into a flurry of excitement over the future member of Aunt Milly's family.

"She's due in June," his aunt said, holding her husband's hand on the table. "We didn't want to tell anyone until we knew for sure."

"How wonderful! Do you have a name yet?" asked his mother.

"Rose," she said, then nudged her husband's shoulder. "He wanted something like Mabel, can you believe it? It sounds like a cow!"

 _A cow? Ahahhahah you're so funny, Aunt Milky!_

Harry's leg bounced under the table, his knife tapping the plate. He would have been happier for his aunt if he hadn't been keeping his temper in check for the last two hours. He decided it was a very good thing his mother had forced him to be silent. He really didn't know how else he could keep his promise to Not be a Complete Jerk.

The meal ended, and his relatives went home, leaving the three of them to clean the dishes. Harry and his father were both silent as his mother chattered on about the dinner, chiding his father about washing the dishes properly. Then, abruptly, she flung her towel on the sink, "Michael, why were you so quiet all the time?" she said, tears in her eyes. "Don't just stand there! Say something!"

"Mum?" said Harry.

Wiping her eyes, she fled the room and darted upstairs. His father dried his hands on his shirt and followed, his step slower. The only sound in the kitchen was the hum of the refrigerator, and it wasn't loud enough to cover the argument upstairs. Harry couldn't hear much, but he knew his father was being blamed for something.

Harry often saw his parents in disagreements, but he rarely saw them fight. Before things could escalate, his father would leave the room, and his mother would keep herself busy. Harry didn't know what happened after that, if they argued in private or swept it under the rug. All he knew was, his father would not let his mother scream at him unless it was something more serious than a mistake at dinner.

His father came downstairs after a few minutes, walked to the sink, and said, "I'll wash, you dry."

"Dad," said Harry. "I want you to tell me what's wrong with Mum."

"She'll be fine," said his Dad.

"Listen," Harry tried to be patient. His dad would understand logic. "It's Christmas Eve, and we've spent most of today miserable with each other. It's not normal, and I think I deserve an answer."

His father didn't speak for a moment, pouring in detergent to re-sud the hot water. When he spoke, it was in a soft, monotone voice. "Your mother can't have children."

Harry frowned, but he wasn't exactly surprised. He had always wondered why his mother stayed at home all these years, when Harry would have been fine without a constant caretaker. She'd never given up hope…until now. "Why is she mad at you?" asked Harry.

"She thinks we waited too long."

"But Mum is only 37. That's not too old, biologically." Harry tried to connect the dots. "She took a magic potion to change her appearance, and it could have caused side effects."

His father shook his head. "It would hurt her more to believe that."

"So, you'll just let her blame you? Even though there's any number of plausible explanations? It's not fair, you should at least do some testing, and then maybe you can find a-"

"Harry," said his father, in a warning tone. "That's not how this works. And you will not speak of it to your mother."

Harry had never seen his father make a decision that wasn't based in logic, and it shocked him. Yet, in all his life, this was the first time his father had told him anything so deeply personal. Harry wasn't about to ruin his trust by fighting back.

His father scrubbed a plate, his brow furrowed and lost in unhappy thoughts.

"Are you getting a divorce?" Harry asked quietly.

"We don't have plans for it," said his father.

Harry felt sick. He knew enough about his father to know that really meant, 'I don't know.'

His father went back to scrubbing, harder and longer than necessary.

"I'll take care of it," said Harry. "You can go help Mum."

His father nodded, and left Harry in the kitchen.

* * *

 _Christmas Eve_

 _10:10 pm_

Harry was trying to be strong. He knew that, in the grand scheme of things, his problems weren't really that bad.

But it was Christmas Eve, and his parents weren't talking, and he was alone watching the Christmas tree lights fade in and out. He could see the presents underneath that they'd be opening later. His parents may or may not be getting a divorce. His mother was crying, and his father was in his study, not with her.

He was hugging his knees, trying to decide if he wanted to listen to Christmas music, read a book, or just sit there in silence. So far, silence was winning.

He'd gone to see his mother earlier. She'd hugged him, rubbed his hair, and said she was sorry. Then she'd told him to go to sleep so Santa could come, even though she knew he'd never really believed in him.

He thought she probably would have liked having a child that did.

Harry got some Christmas cookies that his mother had baked from the kitchen. The lights blinked against the ornaments that he'd helped put on the tree since he was 5 years old. Harry was thinking of sleeping here, instead of in his trunk. Not because he was waiting for Santa, but because it was so much prettier and warmer here than anywhere he could think of.

The telephone rang. Harry glanced uncertainly at the clock before picking up the cordless phone in the kitchen. "Hello?"

"Harry! You'll never guess what happened!"

"Hermione?" Harry said. "What is it?"

"I got a cat!" she burst out excitedly, like she did when she drank too much coffee. "My mum bought it for me. It's orange colored, and-and it's cute, and I wish I could show you a picture! It's so intelligent too, it's already caught a mouse! I know you said you would call tomorrow, but I just couldn't wait to tell you. I hope you aren't busy?"

"No," Harry slumped back down on the couch, phone held to his ear.

"Oh, good. Argh, hold on, my cousin is being a pest." Somewhat distantly, Harry heard her yelling at her cousin about not pulling the cat's tail. "Sorry, he's been driving me crazy all day. I think Grandma gave him too many sweets. Earlier, he almost broke my wand, and I only had it out for two seconds. I used to say I wanted to have a younger sibling, but I'm a little relieved that I don't now."

She laughed, and Harry felt a tightness in his chest.

"I'm talking your ear off, aren't I? How was your day?"

"It was…strange," said Harry.

"Strange? How?"

"I'll tell you later maybe," said Harry, pulling a blanket over him. "Why don't you tell me more about your day? What else did your cousin do?"

She chatted on for about another thirty minutes, and the topics ranged to different things, from Christmas activities to almost backing the car into a pole, and even planning to study for their exams.

"Mum says I have to get off the phone," said Hermione with a sigh. "If you want to call tomorrow, I'll be free around 1:00 pm."

"Hmm," said Harry. "Yes, I'll call you then."

"Okay," said Hermione. "I…" she paused for a moment. "It was nice talking to you. Goodnight."

"Goodnight," replied Harry, listening to the sound of the phone line clicking dead.

He set the phone into the receiver and walked back to the couch. He lay down and put his hands behind his head.

Talking to her hadn't made him forget his problems—if anything, it should have reminded him of what his Christmas was missing. And yet, there was something calming about her voice. It soothed him, even when she was rambling, in stops and starts, as if her mouth couldn't quite figure out what her brain wanted to say. He closed his eyes, feeling calmer, the pain stilled to a dull ache he could handle.

And at least now, he knew what he was getting Hermione for Christmas.

* * *

 _Christmas Eve_

 _11:45 pm_

All Harold wanted was to go home.

He shivered at his desk, bending over a cup of hot tea. For some reason, it was always cold in the Department of Mysteries, but it was downright freezing in the Customs section. For some reason, they were forbidden to bring their wands, so he couldn't even cast _Thermos._ Harold had bought a heated blanket, his own water boiler, and a bulky jacket, but it was still too cold. He didn't understand why they didn't just invest in heating charms for the entire building—if he was in charge, that was one of the things he'd change.

Of course, imagining being in charge was just a pastime for his bored mind. He hated working here, and his goal in life was to win the lottery and go live on an island in the Majorcas. If that didn't happen, then he might just run off to join a cult, as long as they believed in central heating.

Even compared to other ministry positions, his job was exceptionally monotonous. Every day, he would examine the log books, cross check them for accuracy, and then update the backup copy. He also had a pile of requests for customs clearance and port keys that he had to send to the appropriate officials for approval. He usually had a partner to joke about how mind-numbingly boring their work was, but tonight was Christmas Eve, and his supervisor had left him to work alone.

His excuse was that everyone else had families, but Harold knew they were just chummy with the supervisor and got whatever they wanted. His supervisor was technically on the schedule with him, but he hadn't been back in the room since the start of shift. Harold assumed he was sleeping somewhere, or that he'd left the building entirely.

Harold had thought plenty of times about leaving in the middle of shift, just walking right out the door and never looking back. He couldn't, though, because somewhere in the back of his mind, a voice whispered, _What if this day was your moment, and you failed? What if this is your chance to finally make a difference?_

That was another reason why he probably wouldn't quit working entirely. His mom hadn't worked three jobs to raise him and his brother so he could be a bum.

So, he kept at the logs, which were dreadfully slow this time of night, and worked on the backup copy. As he was writing, he saw an alert for an illegal import. He looked at the customs log, but whatever had just passed through didn't show up clearly. The letters were blurred, like someone had spilled water on the ink.

He frowned. This was very odd, and like nothing he'd seen in two years. He was supposed to write up an incident report and immediately contact his supervisor, but he wasn't sure he would respond. He tried anyway, twice, and received no reply. He must be out of range for the mirror.

He was so busy with this that he almost missed the second illegal import before it was too late.

Panicking, he decided to hell with the chain of command and contacted Madam Bones.

* * *

 _Christmas Eve_

 _11:58 pm_

Draco sat in front of the fire, sipping his warm apple cider. Every so often, he glanced at the clock.

He could see the snow piling up outside the cabin, drifting down softly. He thought of his last happy Christmas Eve in his father's house, opening an early present while his father watched contentedly from beside the fire. The pair of soft leather gloves he'd given Draco still kept him warm, four years later.

Draco heard a creak behind him, and saw Boris coming down the stairs. He was heading for the kitchen, but came to join Draco instead. "You are not asleep?"

"No," said Draco. "I'm waiting for midnight. It's a tradition in my family."

"Ahh, I see," said Boris, taking a seat by the fire. "I am happy you could join us. I have not seen you in a long time." There was a pause, and then Boris said, hesitantly, "Did you talk to your mother?"

"Yes," said Draco, staring off into the fire. "She's doing a bit better."

This was a lie, but he did not want to say something too somber on Christmas Eve. A grieving leader would appear vulnerable, and that was not what he needed tonight, of all nights.

Boris nodded, relaxing into the sofa. "That is good to hear."

They were quiet for some moments. Draco glanced at the clock again, the hands coming close to their meeting.

He kept trying to think if there was anything he'd forgotten, anything else he needed to do. Not that there was much he could do from here, but he couldn't help thinking of it.

"Boris," said Draco eventually. "I will bring your request to the Priestess, but I have been wondering. Why did you change your mind?"

Boris rubbed his hands together by the fire, his face thoughtful. "I will try to explain as best I can in English," said Boris. "When I first heard the Priestess's teachings, I did not believe. It seemed too much like the evil words of a mad prophet. I did not see how our world could be in danger from children. Now, I do."

Draco nodded. "Fair enough. And you realize the risk you will be taking on?"

"Yes," said Boris. "I will be careful."

"You must be more than careful," said Draco. "And if you are not an Occlumens, then you must begin your lessons now."

The clock struck the hour, and Draco rose from his seat. He flicked his wand, and a flash of bright yellow light sprung from it and coalesced into the form of a Blue Krait. His Patronus vanished out the window, and returned about thirty seconds later, delivering its return message.

Draco smiled. "Well, Boris," he said. "It looks like you might have something to do for us at Hogwarts after all." Draco glanced once more at the clock. "Oh, and before I forget. Merry Christmas."


	31. Christmas Gifts

Chapter 30: Christmas Gifts

 _Christmas Day_

 _12:30 am_

"When this is over," said Madam Bones. "You're all fired."

The supervisors, directors, and everyone else from the Customs Department stood stock still as the axe of Madam Bones' rage fell on the small conference room. Madam Bones' arms were pinned behind her back as she strode through the room, silent save for her footfalls.

"Because of the inept leadership in this department, we almost lost several Aurors today, not to mention a crowd of Muggles. If your employee, Harold Shacklebot, hadn't called me, and warned me in time, then I would have you all condemned to Azkaban for sheer incompetence."

It shouldn't be possible, thought Harold, but she was the leader of the Wizengamot. It was not an idle threat.

"However, before leaving," she said, turning to face them all. "I will be interrogating each of you one by one to determine if any other dangerous materials snuck their way through the logs and were not reported. Do not lie to me, or I will know, and then I will have you thrown in Azkaban for the obstruction of justice."

Someone knocked on the door, and Madam Bones barked, "What?"

The man entered, his face wet with perspiration. "Madam Bones, you said to contact you once we determined the results of the tests. It is as we feared."

There was a moment of tense silence. Then, Madam Bones roared, "Contact everyone on the council, all the high ranking Aurors. We are having a meeting right now!"

* * *

 _Christmas Day_

 _8:30 am_

Harry's computer took about twenty minutes to turn on completely, so he had plenty of time to get ready and grab some cereal before checking his email.

The first one he opened was from Dr. Kellogg (no relation to the breakfast cereal).

 _Your theories on energy are quite interesting,_ he said _. And they do have some corroboration in several scientific papers. However, most modern researchers consider this pseudoscience, and ultimately untestable. There is not much else I can say on the matter._

 _However, as to your question about dark matter detection, I've heard of a group of scientists who are attempting that at a research facility in Italy. They say they have designed an experiment that will show a reaction in the presence of dark matter. We don't know the full details; however, it would likely involve several key components…_

"Harry," said his mother from the living room. "Come here, we're opening presents."

"In a minute," said Harry, quickly scanning the rest of the email. "Can I use the printer?"

His mother sighed, but his father just chuckled. "Let him do it, dear. He's working on his project."

 _It's not just a pet project, Dad,_ Harry wanted to say. Dyson spheres would be colonizing the galaxy before his father took his work seriously. Sighing, Harry turned on the printer and did his business.

Aside from the usual socks and ugly sweaters, Harry got a few presents this year that he liked. Most of them were books, including a few pop-sci textbooks Harry thought were a waste of paper, but he didn't complain.

Next, his parents opened their presents. His father smiled when he opened the watch Harry bought him, and his mother put on the pin he got her. Harry was watching for any signs of discord between them, but he didn't catch anything. In pretty much every way, they looked like a happy couple, enjoying Christmas with their family. It made Harry feel relieved, even if he didn't believe it was true.

After opening presents, his mother started preparing Christmas dinner. Harry was peeling potatoes when his father came in from the other room. "Listen to this," he said, pointing at an article in the newspaper. "Last night there was an attempted bombing in a Catholic church not far from here. Everyone is safe, but police are investigating a terrorist attack."

"Oh heavens," said his mother, who was basting the turkey. "Where was it?"

His father mentioned the church, and his mother closed the oven. "I'll have to call Mary Ann and check on her. She goes there every weekend."

His mother went for the phone, and his father turned to Harry. "So, how's the research going?"

Harry was quiet, and just kept peeling potatoes.

His father raised his eyebrows. "Not talking to me, huh?"

"If you insist on treating it like a pet project, then I imagine that it won't hurt you much if I don't disclose the details."

Harry expected his father might do his eyebrow laugh again, but instead, he looked very grave. "Who said I thought it wasn't important? I had several projects of my own growing up, and one of them won me a scholarship. I'm just curious about what you're doing."

"Well…" said Harry. "I might tell you. Once I have more to report."

His father nodded, taking a seat in the chair by the kitchen counter, and opened the newspaper again to read.

After a few minutes, Harry said, "Uhh…Dad, tomorrow I would like to go to the store for a present."

"A present? For who?" said his mother, entering the room.

"Umm…" said Harry, looking at the floor helplessly. "Umm…"

His mother lit up. "Harry, is it a girl? Do you have a girlfriend?"

 _Now_ his father was doing the eyebrow laugh. "Mum, please don't," whined Harry.

But she wasn't listening. "Oh, this is the best present I could have asked for!" she said. "Come now, tell me all about her!"

Harry watched his mother leaning against the counter, eyes aflame with Personal Interest, and realized she wouldn't stop pestering him unless she had something to go on.

"So," said Harry slowly. "Let's just say she's short, blonde and is as Slytherin as they come. Got stuff to do, bye."

Harry hopped off the stool, prepared to let that be the end of the conversation. His father cleared his throat, turned a page in the newspaper.

"Basically," he said. "She's the opposite of all those things."

Harry whirled around. "Dad!"

"Oh, is it Hermione?" His mother brightened. "Please tell me it is! I was so scared you'd end up with a cold hearted robot woman who would be the death of all dinner conversation. I could just...see those wedding photos." Her nose wrinkled in distaste. "But Hermione would be so wonderful for us-err, for you! Now tell me, when are you taking her on a date?"

"I want to go back to Hogwarts," sighed Harry.

* * *

 _Christmas Day_

 _12:40 pm_

Hermione ate her Christmas meal with her family, every so often glancing at the clock.

She had received two calls this morning already. The first was from Auror Lee, who told her about the "Christmas Incident." Due to security reasons, he was vague on the details, but he said the situation had been resolved, though she might hear something about it on the news. Tonks also called her, informing her that everyone in the Ministry had been freaking out last night, but it looked like things had calmed down. Both of them had also given her another warning: Don't tell Harry.

Hermione worried at first, but since things calmed down, she tried not to let it spoil her Christmas. She was surrounded by family, goofy younger cousins, and a new cat who liked to purr and sit in her lap. Everyone was safe and happy. There was just one thing missing.

Again, she glanced at the clock. She shouldn't be so nervous, she knew that. She shouldn't be waiting at all. And yet, her ears were listening for the sound, just like her cat when she heard a bird outside.

 _If it doesn't happen, I won't be sad. I know he's just busy…and also I know I'm thinking about him too much again. I need to stop that. Maybe it's better if he doesn't call._

Her cat purred and jumped from her lap to go play with some crumpled wrapping paper. Hermione smiled and reached for another croissant.

When the phone finally rang, Hermione leaped from her chair and ran over. "Hi Harry," she said, trying and failing not to sound as excited as she felt. "Merry Christmas!"

* * *

 _Christmas Day_

 _5:30 pm_

"You said the words were blurred?"

"Yes," Harold repeated, for the 5th time that day. "But not the words for the explosives. It was the item that came through right before those that we couldn't identify."

"Are you certain?" said Madam Bones, looking directly into his eyes.

He hesitated. It was the 8th time someone had asked him that day, and he was starting to doubt himself. "As far as I know, that's the truth." He shifted in his seat. "Do we have any leads on what caused the glitch? Is it possible it was a…hiccup in the system?"

Madam Bones gave him a calculating stare.

"No, it's not," said Madam Bones, straightening the papers after making a final note. "Our analysis shows the logs are in perfect working order, as they always have been. Every time there has been an error in reading the object's identification code, it's because the logs were confounded on purpose. The last time was during Grindelwald's reign of terror, where he Apparated weapons across the border before perpetrating attacks against London."

She set the papers aside, folded her hands. "We will be launching a full investigation into this error, including examining all the magics in place on the log books. We need to improve our defenses, make our magical artifacts stronger than our enemy's. We need to make sure this doesn't happen again."

"Err…okay," said Harold, wondering why she was telling him all this classified information.

Then, he had a horrible, sinking feeling.

"Starting today," said Madam Bones. "I will be instating you as the Chief of Staff of the Customs Department. You will be in charge of oversight for all employees, which will be working closely with security personnel. The immediate danger is taken care of, but we cannot relax in vigilance. You will report directly to me on a daily basis with a copy of all items coming into and out of the country."

 _Crap._

"In addition," said Madam Bones. "Your pay will be increased, and you will be allowed a certain level of control over the department. I will brief you fully on the changes taking place tomorrow morning. Do you have any questions?"

"Just one," Harold said, with a resigned sigh. "Can I put a heater in the room?"

* * *

 _Wednesday, January 4th_

"Holy Azimov, what is that?" asked Harry, when they met at Hogsmeade station.

"It's my cat," said Hermione.

" _That's_ a cat?" said Harry, dumbfounded. "What was its mum, a walrus?"

"That's not polite to say, Harry," said Hermione primly. "She's just chubby. A girl can be beautiful at any size, you know."

"Okay," said Harry, who wasn't touching that comment with a ten foot pole. He would have bet money that the huge creature had to be a tom cat, though. Its yellow eyes blinked at Harry in a bored sort of way. "Why Crookshanks, though? It makes it sound like you got her from a prison."

Hermione hugged the orange cat to herself, who didn't seem to mind being carried like a rag doll. "I sort of did. She'd been at the pet shop for a long time, since no one else wanted her. I think she's wonderful, though. Here, watch."

Hermione set down the cat and made a clicking noise between her teeth. The cat fell into step beside them as they walked through the train station, its bottle-brush tail swishing back and forth. "She's so smart," sighed Hermione. "I bet she'd even be able to solve math problems if I gave her some blocks."

Harry shook his head, smiling. "I suppose this is as good a time as any," he said, handing her his present.

"Another one?" Hermione opened the wrapping paper carefully, then her eyes brightened. "Aww, a cat necklace! It looks just like Crookshanks!"

 _If she was a normal cat, and not half mountain gnome,_ thought Harry, but didn't say, because the cat was making him nervous. She was looking at him with an unnervingly intense glare, as if judging him for his private thoughts.

Hermione took out the necklace, struggling to clasp it behind her neck.

"Here, let me," offered Harry. After a brief hesitation, she turned around, holding her hair out of the way. He was careful not to pinch her skin as he fumbled with the tiny metal clasp, his fingers brushing her shirt instead. When he'd finished, she turned around, taking a second to admire the necklace.

Harry found himself staring at her. When Hermione looked up, she started brushing off her clothing, jeans and a pink sweater. "I have cat hair all over me, don't I?"

"No…it's…" he paused. "You don't usually wear muggle clothes at school."

"Right, and that was on account of the cat hair," said Hermione. "I figured I would change into my robes once I got to school."

"Uh…yeah," said Harry, shaking his head. "That makes sense."

They walked out of the station, Harry asked, "Want to come to the Ravenclaw dorm after you get dressed?"

"I have a meeting with the Aurors, actually," said Hermione. "But I'll see you at dinner." "Okay, and umm, about the thing on your list…still want to do it?"

She nodded. "Yes. We can start next week."

* * *

 _Saturday, January 6_ _th_

"This is a rather inauspicious time to begin preparing this potion," said Professor Slughorn, bustling around the cabinets in his classroom. "But I did promise I would show you, so let us begin. Set the cauldron to boiling while I prepare a few ingredients."

Harry and Hermione did as he requested. Slughorn had given them preparation instructions for the Identification Potion, which ran about a meter long and was quite complicated. It wasn't the most difficult thing Harry had ever tried to brew, but several items were rather expensive, and it would be a waste to mess it up on a silly mistake. It was for that reason they were hovering over a giant cauldron in Professor Slughorn's classroom on a Saturday afternoon, rather than watching the dueling match like Harry had wanted.

"Add two cups of the powdered mugwort," said Professor Slughorn from across the room. "As soon as the cauldron starts to boil, but not a moment before."

Hermione already had it measured, along with the rest of the ingredients for the 1st step of the brew. There were five parts in all, which would take about three hours to complete. She stirred the potion base with a spoon, frowning at the cauldron. "The solvent smells very metallic, like copper."

"Add a bit more talc," said Slughorn.

"How much, exactly?" asked Harry.

"I'm not sure. You have to feel these things out." Slughorn came over, setting down a few canisters of green leaves beside them. He took a whiff of the potion before plopping a heaping spoonful of talc into the base. He stirred it, and the smell diminished. "It's a little like cooking. Do you like to cook?"

Both of them shook their heads, and Slughorn made a "tsk tsk" sound. "Students these days are neglecting the culinary arts. I personally believe it is why potion scores have been so dreadfully low. I asked one fifth year to cut a root julienne style, and he said, 'Isn't that the book by Shakespeare?'" Slughorn pinched the bridge of his nose. "Anyway, keep stirring constantly, switching direction every thirty seconds."

Hermione stirred for a while, and Harry took the spoon when she got tired. Slughorn continued fumbling around in his cabinets, and it still wasn't clear what he was looking for. "Ahh, this reminds me of the good old days," he said with a chuckle. "I had two bright young students like yourselves who were quite accomplished with potions. They were always working on projects together, and they were among those with the most promise in the Slug Club. It's a shame they parted ways, they would have made a handsome couple. They would have accomplished great things, I'm sure."

Harry didn't really care, but Hermione looked curious, "Who were they?"

"They were Lily Evans, the best charms mistress of her generation, and Severus Snape, my most accomplished student in potions."

Harry kept stirring the pot, but it was purely an automatic response. He could not believe that even Slughorn could be so insensitive. "Professor, you do realize if my mother had married Professor Snape I might never have been born?"

"Well of course! Just wondering what might have been. You do look so much like James. Never would have caught him in here on a Saturday, though, too busy practicing on the Quidditch pitch or out making mischief..."

There were a few more moments of silence while Harry stewed.

"And for the record," muttered Harry. "I am _nothing_ like Professor Snape."

Professor Slughorn gave Harry an owlish look over his glasses. "You did not know Snape well, I gather. He was quite intelligent, and he had an intuitive understanding in many areas of magic. He always had a book under his nose, constantly researching and working on new things. I had to practically push the chair out from under him to get him to leave his corner and have conversations with people at my parties. Except Lily, of course."

"You're forgetting," said Harry, his tone sharp. "That he was a walking disaster who wallowed in his own self-pity, treated everyone up to and including the Headmaster with contempt, abandoned himself to the dark arts for no reason besides that they seemed "cool _,_ " and whose chief joy in life seemed to be harassing young, innocent children for his own amusement."

Slughorn sighed. "If this surprises you, then you must also not be familiar with many teachers."

Hermione was preparing ingredients, but he could hear the diplomatic, yet slightly anxious, tone in her voice. "Well, I don't mind being compared to the most accomplished charms mistress of her generation. I read that she was also Head Girl, and quite beautiful." She blushed. "Not that that matters, anyway."

"Oh yes, she was quite vivacious and charming," said Slughorn, his tone wistful. "And she was kind too, as well as principled. She'd have had a good effect on Severus, I think, if they hadn't grown apart. You can add the mugwort now."

The cauldron had only just begun to bubble, but Slughorn wasn't close enough to see that. Hermione added the mugwort and took over stirring, her forehead pinched in concentration.

Harry watched carefully, every few stirs dropping in crushed pearls. Sometimes, Harry did wonder what his biological parents were like. Lupin had told him a few anecdotes, but they still seemed like characters out of a story book rather than real people. If it was true that his mother was like Hermione, and his father was…well, an obnoxious Gryffindor, then how on Earth had they gotten along? And if she was good friends with Snape, then why didn't he listen to her advice? If Hermione yelled at him about something, then he tried to consider what she wanted, at least so she'd stop bugging him.

The thing that bothered him most about Snape was that he'd been a disappointment. The love of his life died, and he'd spent the rest of his time moping around Hogwarts, becoming a weak, pathetic version of who he could have been. If that exact situation had happened to Harry, there would have only been two options. One, raise Hermione back from the dead, or, two, exact revenge on every person who had ever hurt her. The fact that she'd already been resurrected once proved that he had surpassed Snape's ingenuity and ambition. Harry didn't want to say he'd loved more, because that wasn't easy to measure, but…perhaps his mother could have been saved if Snape had been a follower of light like him.

 _Wait a minute,_ thought Ravenclaw. _Did we just admit Hermione is the love of our life?_

Harry stopped stirring.

 _No…wait, that's not the purpose of the analogy-_

"Do we add the Ashwinder eggs next?" asked Hermione.

"Err, yes," said Harry, picking up the bowl of them.

"Wait a moment," said Slughorn, approaching them. He placed a hand over the cauldron, felt the steam rising, and then said, "Add just one egg, and reserve the others for later."

"Why?" asked Harry.

"The potion is too hot," said Slughorn with a frown. "This was not a good time to work this magic. Everything is under too much stress."

"What does that mean?" asked Harry, but Slughorn just shook his head.

"Follow my directions, and it will be fine. Now, add the first egg and I'll bring out the phoenix feather."

Harry and Hermione spent the next several hours slaving away over the cauldron, while Slughorn stopped them every few minutes to change something about the potion. Slughorn seemed tense, like a doctor performing open heart surgery. Harry could see Hermione growing restless, sensing his nervousness. Harry began to suspect if they'd attempted it without Slughorn, they might have blown a chunk out of the side of Hogwarts.

Once they were finished, Harry held a bright blue potion that shimmered in its flask.

"There we are," said Slughorn, wiping his forehead with his kerchief. "It came out beautifully, after all. Use it sparingly, only a few drops at a time."

Harry held their prize in his hands, watching the swirls of color within. "Can we use it immediately?"

Professor Slughorn nodded. "Yes. But store it in a cool place once you finish, it will last longer."

In no time at all, Harry and Hermione were back in his lab, pulling items out of his closet and their personal inventories for testing. Harry had an array of items he'd labeled for "first dibs" out on the table. Hermione had only the crystal apple.

"Let's test it on a known substance first," said Harry, and dripped the potion on a book.

"Item: Bartimus Bailey's Index of Magical Powders, Dusts and Aerosols," said a disembodied man's voice, in Queen's English. "Published: 1935, 1359th edition. List of all known powdered items that are not protected under the Interdict of Merlin. Item code: 7301938."

Harry had _chills_. Starting to get excited, Harry dripped it over the glowing, red ball he'd gotten from a Gryffindor quest a few months ago. "Item: Fluorescent ball. Open and feed pods to animals to cause a safe, temporary glow. Item code: 3092840."

Harry and Hermione both looked at each other, reading each other's thoughts. The Weasleys would have loved this one, if they could have been a tad more patient about their profit margins.

"Let's try your crystal fruit," said Harry, giving her the bottle.

She tipped it over, and two drops slid down like dew drops. "Item: Death Fruit. Will instantly petrify any living organism that ingests it. Item code: 0000139."

Hermione stood frozen. Then, in a trembling, small voice, "I had this unwrapped in my pouch."

They stopped everything and quickly tested every quest item still in their pouches, but nothing else caused instant death. Harry examined the potion container, noting how much they'd wasted on that. "Let's do one more for now."

Harry got out their Suspicious White Powder and cut off a tiny piece of it. He placed it on a piece of plastic wrap, and poured one drop of potion.

"Item: Unknown."

They were silent for a few moments.

"Try again," said Hermione.

Harry did so, but got the same result.

"This better not be wizard ricin," muttered Hermione.

"Don't worry, if it were ricin we'd already be dead, or at least I would be." Hermione didn't seem nearly as comforted by this as he'd hoped.

"Harry, the spell can recognize _Death Fruit_ but not this powder? That's terrifying!"

"More like exhilarating," said Harry. "The likelihood of this powder being extremely rare and valuable just skyrocketed. We'll be the first people to figure out what it does, and it could be exactly what we're looking for."

Harry was over the moon with excitement, but Hermione brought him crashing back down. "We need to show this to McGonagall."

"Why?" said Harry. "Based on all my experiments, this powder appears inert, and it won't hurt anyone. I even tried to test its combustion point, but I couldn't even make smoke. Of course, I will be more cautious now that I know how rare it is."

Hermione was shaking her head. "We have no idea what this powder does, and you'd be putting your classmates in danger if something goes wrong."

"Honestly, I think you're being a little paranoid."

"Paranoid? I was carrying around poison in my bag next to my snacks!"

"Well, you can metabolize toxins, so what does it matter?"

She glared at him. "We need to show McGonagall everything. The entire closet."

"What?" Harry burst out. "Now wait just a minute! Those items are necessary for my research into understanding magic. And now that we finally have the tools to identify their purpose, you want me to blithely hand them off to someone else?"

She shook her head. "The safety of the school comes first. Even if you know what the items are, you can't predict how they'll react to your testing."

"You're assuming I'm not safe with my testing, which is not true. I could provide plenty of evidence to the contrary. Now, question: it's important that my rockets get to space. Agree or disagree?"

"Harry—"

"And if I give up all my quest items, I'll have literally nothing to research with. I'll have to start from square one. If that delays my quest for immortality, then that's a net detriment to the school, is it not?"

Hermione huffed a sigh, while Harry continued on.

"So, logically speaking, we need to weigh the consequences of this delay against the minimal danger to students posed by my research—"

"Question," said Hermione acerbically. "Harry Potter tends to rationalize everything unethical that he wants to do by making it for the greater good, does he not? Even if the only thing he's being asked to do is let a reasonable, responsible adult take a look at all the dangerous items he's been experimenting on in her school?"

 _Crap._

Harry sputtered. "It's more than—"

"Which is actually very illogical, since Harry knows that this adult has years of experience dealing with dark magic and might actually _know what she's doing_. Not to mention, she has a moral requirement to take care of all the students at this school. Including you, Harry Potter. She's not just going to take all your stuff for no reason."

Harry's jaw was working. "She doesn't trust me, Hermione. Her authoritative script won't bend for me, and she won't let me keep most of the items I really need. Even if I promised her I'd use safety precautions she just…wouldn't change her mind. She's logical and reasonable, but perhaps not the right _sort_ of reasonable for this situation."

Hermione's gaze softened slightly, but she still said, "Well, I'm disappointed that you care more about keeping a bunch of stuff you won in a game than about doing what you know is right." She took a step closer. "As painful as it might be, you can't work with complete autonomy. You want her to believe in you? Prove you're trustworthy."

 _Double crap._

Harry tried to come up with a counter to that, but he could feel his resolve crumbing. First, because she seemed to cut through his arguments like butter, which would be admirable if it wasn't so frustrating. He was starting to agree with her in spite of himself.

But the real reason he was caving in—the secret, awful reason he could never reveal to anyone—was that Hermione always got her way with him. He intensely disliked it when she was disappointed in him, and to fix that he would do whatever she wanted. He was basically carrying on this fight to prove he still had a spine.

That's when he realized he didn't need to win—he needed to bargain.

There was a simple psychological strategy that had worked for him on several occasions. If you make big demands, and those are denied, a smaller one might be accepted as a guilted concession.

"Okay, so…how about this?" said Harry, trying to look remorseful. "I'll show McGonagall all the dangerous items in my closet."

"And the ones on your table," she pointed out. "And in your pouch and on the bookshelf."

"Right," he said. "But I will keep back ten completely non-dangerous items. They've proved useful, and would be difficult to replace."

"That's it?" said Hermione.

Harry nodded.

"Okay," she said, and Harry sighed in relief inwardly. "But remember that favour I got for the duelling game? I'm using that to cancel out that concession."

"Hermione!" said Harry sharply, his fist banging the table. "That's not how that works!"

She flinched, and he realized his voice was loud enough to carry through the room. Harry felt a flash of fear. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean…I'm sorry."

She looked down and said softly, "I'm going to show McGonagall the powder, since it's my quest item. As for the rest, I'll leave that up to you. I'm not going to tell you what to do." Her eyes met his cautiously. "If you take some time to think about it, I know you'll make the right decision."

 _Oh man_ , he thought, as she left the room. _I am so screwed._


	32. Something to Protect

Chapter 31: Something to Protect

Harry watched grimly as Minerva wrapped up the white powder and applied various safety charms.

"I'll keep this for now," she said. "Once I determine what it is, I will return it to you, if possible. Random items appearing in Hogwarts are rarely as innocuous as they seem, so thank you for telling me about this before something unfortunate happened."

Harry shuffled his feet, mumbled something and nodded.

"If you find any more suspicious items in the quests, please let me know," said Minerva.

"Umm…" said Harry. "Actually…" He rubbed the back of his head. "We've already, I mean, it was weeks ago…" He sighed. "Come this way."

Harry opened a door to a closet hidden in the wall, and Minerva stepped inside. Then, she stifled a scream.

"Harry! Where did you find all of this?"

"The Hogwarts quests." His gaze was resolute and pleading. "Listen, I can understand if you want to take these items for now, but I'd like to note that I'm showing you all of this willingly. Also, I worked _really_ hard on building this collection, so please take that into consideration with your verdict."

Minerva knew by now not to expect normal news from Harry, but it was practically impossible for a student to stock a room with this many magical artefacts, not in the six months he'd had access to the quests. He should be allowed two or three quests a month, not _per day_. On top of that, several items in here would be horrendously lethal if handled incorrectly. And…Sweet Merlin…was that an _entire wall_ of dark magical items she spied in the corner?

She turned back to glare at the boy who was staring hard at the floor, as if preparing to be chastised. Minerva sighed, her anger fading. In many ways, Harry wasn't a child anymore, but a young man trying to find his way in the world. If she scolded him for doing just that, he might never trust her again.

And she needed him to trust her. Due to several prophecies she'd heard and witnessed, Minerva had tried to keep Harry out of conflict as much as possible. She'd warded his parents' home, placed protection spells on him, and done most everything short of tracking him night and day. Since the Christmas incident, however, it was clear that the world might not be safe for anyone much longer. Maybe it was time to give him the tools to defend himself.

"Harry Potter," said Minerva. "How do you feel about showing this collection to Alastor Moody?"

* * *

"A Skull of Narzan," said Mad Eye, whistling. "How'd you get this one?"

"Beat a caterpillar at checkers," said Harry, arms folded as he hunkered against the doorway. Normally, he might obfuscate a bit more, but he was hoping honesty would win him points. "What does it do?"

"It's for fighting goblins," said Mad Eye. "Invented during the war. Drives them crazy and makes them want to bash their brains in with sticks."

"So…uh…" said Harry, his eyes darting away from it. "I guess I won't be allowed to keep that one?"

Mad Eye chuckled. "Son, if the goblins found out that you had one of these, they'd get you thrown into Azkaban. There's about fifteen laws stating that I have to send this back to the Department of Mysteries for destruction."

Harry watched with trepidation as Mad Eye scanned the closet. The rational part of his brain realized that he was quite fortunate Mad Eye was explaining what each item did before he killed himself-like those physicists who monkeyed around with the radioactive Demon Core-and that he was even _more_ fortunate Mad Eye wasn't confiscating everything outright. The irrational part of him was glowering in its corner, sulking over each item lost. He'd made a worm hole from a bookends spell, so who knew what he could do with a murder skull?

And a third, introspective part of himself was wondering how many friendship points he was earning right now with Hermione, while a fourth was reminding him to stop thinking so much and focus on what Mad Eye was saying.

"I'm curious about how you got your hands on a Death Fruit," said Mad Eye. "Those are extremely rare."

"I used psychic trickery on a troll giant hybrid," said Harry. "And I suppose you'll be taking that one too, since it causes instant death?"

Mad Eye picked up the fruit, weighing it in his hands. "It's not deadly unless you eat the whole fruit, otherwise the petrification effect isn't permanent. It could last anywhere from hours to months at a time."

"Really?" said Harry. "Huh, interesting. What do wizards typically use it for?"

"In the old days, it was used on prisoners and psychiatric patients. Now, it's so rare that it's not used anymore."

Mad Eye put the fruit back on the shelf, crossing to the other side of the room. The acid spill from months ago was gone now, but there was still a dark stain in the stone floor. Mad Eye stepped on the spot to examine another object.

Harry was thinking that if the petrification stopped aging, then it could work as a form of cryostasis. It could solve the boredom problem that accompanied space travel, and halt someone's death in an emergency. The ratio of fruit to amount of time petrified would be something he could test experimentally, but it would be a lot easier to ask someone who knew already. Harry was just about to do that when Mad Eye started talking.

"Boy, I gotta ask. You didn't rig up a time turner to get all these items, did you?"

"No," said Harry.

"Didn't steal them?"

"No." Harry was suspicious. "Why are you asking?"

"I never played those Hogwarts Quests, but your Headmistress mentioned how they work. You shouldn't have been able to get this many items in six months, even with a partner."

"It was more like…a year and six months." Mad Eye folded his arms with an inquiring look, and Harry went on. "Okay, so remember how last year at Hogwarts, this place became literalinsanity with walls? Well, I took advantage of the situation and did as many quests as humanly possible, even though I shouldn't have had access, strictly speaking."

"So, you gamed the system?" said Mad Eye with a grin. "Wouldn't expect any less of you. Still, it looks like 3 years worth, and then some. If I didn't know better, I'd say you doubled back and did each quest twice."

"I don't have a time turner," said Harry. Though if he did, Harry would most certainly have used it to mine quest items out of the castle.

"I know that," said Mad Eye, opening his flask and taking a sip. "But that's hardly the only way to mess with time."

Harry was silent for a moment. His mind was full of questions, but he knew he needed to be cautious about how he asked them.

When Mad Eye finished drinking, he said, "You'd be a fool to do it, though. Once you break the 6 hour rule, all sanity goes completely out the window. Once you start bartering with time, trying to get more, or change something past…" Mad Eye was silent a moment, then grunted. "Well, there's a reason most people who try wind up dead or worse."

"What's worse than being dead?" asked Harry. "Unless you're talking about a vegetative state, or some form of zombification, though I assume magic will one day find a way to reverse most of those. In which case, any form of being not dead is still better."

Mad Eye gave him a long, calculating look. "Kid, if you can't answer that question, then you're not ready to know."

Harry wanted to kick himself. Of course, he'd probably meant _philosophically_ worse scenarios, like becoming a Dark Lord and hurting lots of people. If Harry would have just thought a little faster, he would have known to keep his mouth shut and let Mad Eye keep talking.

Fortunately, Mad Eye didn't need much prodding to continue. He took another swig from his flask, wiped his mouth. "There's only one person who was supposedly able to change the past. _Really_ change it. Merlin gave up his life to save the people, as the story goes. If he hadn't, we'd all be floating around on a coffin planet." He coughed. "Course, time doesn't like being messed with, which is why magic is still dying."

Harry blinked. "What do you mean, exactly?" He thought through his next words carefully. "Is this a story you heard, or did you find it from a primary source?"

"Well, I…" Mad Eye stopped, looked at his drink, frowning. Then, he glanced at the shelf again and spat out, "Oh, bloody hell!"

He grabbed something off it, cast an enchantment, and then whirled on Harry, wand drawn.

Harry's hands were in the air. "I promise not to say anything. If necessary, I'll even take an unbreakable vow to-"

"No, you won't," growled Mad Eye. _"Obliviate!"_

* * *

 _Tuesday, January 9th_

"I would like to remind you that you are all very brave," said Dean Thomas, standing in front of the classroom. "It takes a lot of courage to keep practicing a difficult spell, after failing the test in front of your peers. We will continue this training course for the next couple of weeks. So if you can't cast the Patronus today, don't lose heart. To me, you're all already winners."

Dean saw a few of his classmates smile, and that animated him, "As you know, casting the Patronus charm has less to do with skill, and more to do with a firm conviction. You need a feeling that's warm and means something to you. It may change with time, and that's okay too. That being said, I'll make sure to check your wand work first to make sure that's not a problem. Harry will be my assistant today, so please listen carefully if he gives you any advice. Now, let's begin."

Dean gave the instruction for the Patronus charm, and then watched as everyone practiced. He tilted one person's arm, another he corrected their stance. Most of his students were Gryffindor and Ravenclaw, but a few Hufflepuffs had joined, Neville being one of them. The only Slytherin was Blaise, but Dean was hoping he'd spread the word around his house.

There were a few Beauxbatons students as well, though none that he knew well. Except, of course, Hermione Granger.

Harry moved among the students, watching their wand work and questioning them about what they used for their happy thought. He was the one who'd come up with the idea to hold this session, after the Defence class practice had gone terribly, resulting in a pitiful lack of corporeal Patronuses.

When Harry asked Dean to lead the remediation group, he'd been confused, wondering why Harry didn't want to lead it himself. But then Harry explained why. They both had an important role to play if they wanted to make this work.

In the centre of the room sat a trunk. Dean walked over to it, murmuring a spell to unlatch the first of several locks. The trunk rattled enough to shake the floor, drawing all the attention his way. "Don't be alarmed," he said. "We will protect you if you need it. But you must also learn to protect yourself."

The whispering began as Dean unlatched the last of the locks, the room seeming to grow darker with each release. Harry took a place at his side, wand raised and bracing himself. Then Dean unlatched the last of the locks, threw open the trunk.

The room grew cold and dark as a dementor surged from within.

The students were screaming, and someone cried out, "It's not real! It can't be!"

"The darkness is real," said Dean, having a hard time facing the dementor himself. "Death is real, so we must be prepared to face it. Remember your happy thought!" Dean raised his wand. _"Expecto Patronum!"_

Dean's Patronus came roaring to life, swatting its massive bear paw at the dementor. Harry stood there, wand raised, casting no Patronus, mumbling softly under his breath.

If it hadn't been Harry Potter standing up there, Dean thought, the students would never have believed it was real. You didn't just happen across a dementor in the wild. They came from Azkaban, a highly restricted government facility guarded by battle hardened Aurors. None of them was loaning a student a soul-sucking dementor, no matter how nicely they asked.

In fact, Harry _had_ petitioned the Ministry for the use of an actual dementor to test with, claiming there would be a much higher success rate, and they'd sent back a firm and resounding no.

So Harry and Dean made do with the next best thing: a magically induced mirage, the incantation provided by Harry. After seeing the spell book it came from, Dean almost backed out of the plan, even as Harry rushed to assure him it only _looked_ dark to convince people the spells were dangerous. _Real_ dark grimoires, he said, looked completely ordinary.

The dementor loomed near the cluster of students, sucking in a rattling breath as if tasting their fear. Dean's Patronus remained strong, but he let it dim, stumbling back as if his strength might fail. Several third and fourth years rushed forwards, casting a successful Patronus to support him, followed by a couple second and first years.

At some point, the students realized it was an illusion. For one thing, many of the older students _had_ seen a dementor before, and knew it to be quite a lot more soul suckingly terrifying than this one. Still, even if they knew the truth, it seemed to help them to see the illusion in the room.

"Think of the darkness you have to face," said Dean. "Remember what's important to protect!"

Eventually there were enough Patronuses that Dean dispelled his, and Harry no longer watched the dementor, instead surveying the room.

" _Expecto Patronum!"_

Dean Thomas saw a flash of light, and Neville had a shocked look on his face as a red panda sprung from his wand, bounding forwards. Someone clapped him on the back, and Neville smiled in amazement, his voice thick as he said, "I thought of my gram on her birthday."

Harry didn't say anything, but Dean saw disappointment flicker across his face before he smiled.

By the end of the hour, about ten students had cast a successful Patronus. Even Blaise succeeded in casting one, his Patronus a completely ordinary Siamese cat.

"Alright, everyone, let's wrap this up for today. Everyone who didn't cast Patronus, don't give up! Your homework is to think of a meaningful thought that inspires you. Good luck!"

His classmates cleared the room, and it was now mostly the Bayesian Conspiracy left to clean up. Blaise stood in a corner and flicked his wand dramatically, demonstrating to Padma how he cast the spell. Dean approached Harry, who was helping move chairs back into place with Neville and Hermione.

"You did great, Neville," Harry was saying. "I was just sort of surprised, that's all."

"Well," said Neville, shrugging. "As long as I can cast any sort of Patronus, I'm happy. Even if it's not the upgraded one."

Using his wand, Dean lifted a chair and moved it to the back of the room. It took a few tries before the spell caught. "Harry," Dean said, "How are we planning to teach the next session? I don't think the dementor trick will work again."

"No, but I've got a different strategy in mind," said Harry, lifting a chair. "I'll be looking for people who need more than a happy thought to cast a Patronus."

Padma approached them, Blaise following a few steps behind. "Alright, what's this I hear about you having a weird Patronus, Harry Potter?"

Harry almost dropped the chair he was levitating. Then, he blinked, straightened up. "I can neither confirm nor deny-"

"So it _is_ true. Well, let's hear it."

When Harry didn't respond right away, Dean offered an explanation, "It's not weird, it's just different. He says some people who can't cast the usual Patronus might be able to cast his.

"Different?" asked Padma, frowning. "How?"

"Well…" Dean had actually never seen the Patronus, so he couldn't really say. "He's a bit private about it."

Hermione finished stacking some chairs and joined them. Before she'd even said anything, Padma asked, "You've seen his Patronus, right? What's it look like?"

Hermione frowned and glanced at Harry, who was just finishing stacking the last chair. Sighing heavily, he wiped his forehead with his sleeve, then turned on his heel to face them.

"Okay, listen, you're all trusted members of the Bayesian Conspiracy, as well as my friends," he said. "But I'm really sorry, I can't show you my Patronus or describe it in detail. If I give you too much information, you might not be able to cast _any_ Patronus, and it's not worth it to take that risk."

"How'd you learn this special Patronus?" asked Padma, frowning. "Like is your special thought just…extra happy or something?"

"Not extra happy, no. I had to develop a specific thought, which comes along with the right state of mind."

"Well, well," drawled Blaise. "How convenient. Harry Potter, the only wizard whose brain is large enough to _think_ his way into getting a special Patronus."

"He's not lying!" said Neville. "I've seen it before, loads of times."

"Wait. _Loads_ of times?" said Dean, taken aback.

Padma frowned. "Harry, didn't you say before that all hypotheses need to be tested experimentally? Your assumption is that showing us the Patronus, and telling us how you cast it, will make it impossible to cast a Patronus. Most of us have already learned to cast a Patronus, so if we all see your Patronus and none of us have any difficulties, it will prove your hypothesis incorrect. Won't it?"

Harry's eyes flicked back and forth between them. "That's a huge gamble."

"Not really," said Blaise. "Seems worth it to learn an upgrade."

"I agree," said Dean. "You can trust us, Harry."

Harry sighed, then slowly raised his wand.

"Very well. I'll show all of you under three conditions. One, you understand that you may not ever be able to cast a normal Patronus again. Two, you promise never to speak to anyone of what I'm about to show you. Three, I reserve the right to Obliviate you at any point in the future if I deem it necessary to protect the information from spreading."

Everyone promised, but Dean knew that if Harry really wanted it kept secret, he would have taken a lot more precautions. Dean could remember back to when Harry wouldn't even talk about the Patronus with other students, much less show them a full demonstration. (Except Neville _and_ Hermione, not that Dean was bitter or anything.)

Harry did the wand motions, which looked exactly the same as the ones for a regular Patronus, and cried out, _"Expecto Patronum!"_

The light flashed from his wand and took a solid form, and Dean shielded his eyes from the burst of energy. When he blinked away the spots, Dean noticed the giant man was taller than your average human, over 7 feet. It was almost too bright to look at, but slowly faded to a pale glow.

And that's when Dean Thomas noticed something strange. And after he noticed it, he couldn't stop seeing it. Maybe it was just a trick of the light, but…

That's when Blaise started snickering, and even Padma was grinning.

"Harry," said Padma. "Is your Patronus modelled after…umm…anything in particular?"

"It's a man," said Harry, pride in his voice. "It's the true form of the Patronus, which can face Death without fear."

"Well, no, what I mean is," said Padma. "Umm…"

Now Hermione was blushing, and Neville was pinching the bridge of his nose.

"What she's trying to ask," said Blaise, smirking. "Is why is your Patronus naked?"

Harry's jaw dropped. "He's…he's not!"

"Well, I don't see a clothing line," said Blaise. "I mean, unless your Patronus is wearing Spandex or a wet suit, I don't know why I can't see pants or a robe of some kind."

"Well, just because you can't see it doesn't mean it isn't there!" declared Harry. "Besides, why would clothing even matter? It's not like regular Patronus wear them. And anyway, haven't any of you ever heard of the Vitruvian Man, or basically any ancient religious painting?"

Blaise was just getting warmed up. "Alright, but listen, aren't the Patronus based on our personalities? So, does that mean you want to be naked? Not that I can blame you, really."

"Neville," said Harry, whirling on him. " _You_ don't think that he's naked, do you?"

"Uhh…" Neville rubbed the back of his neck. "It did cross my mind, actually. But I don't think it's anything to worry about, like you said, the Patronus don't need clothing."

"Hang on," said Blaise. "Does that mean Padma's Patronus could end up being a naked woman? Or for that matter, could I have had a naked woman as my Patronus? Man, I'm starting to regret that missed opportunity."

Harry made a strangled noise in his throat, and his Patronus dimmed and almost disappeared. "Hang on," said Padma, stepping closer.

"What?" said Harry.

"I think your Patronus just winked at me," she said, peering closely with a grin. "Yes, I think he did."

"Wow," Blaise chuckled. "You really are a Casanova, Harry."

The Patronus vanished in that instant. If looks could kill, then there would have been a Blaise-shaped pile of ash on the floor. Deliberately, Harry closed his eyes and took in a breath, and everyone got very quiet. The tension in the room was palpable, almost like a dark spell in itself.

"I suppose," said Harry softly. "If all of you noticed this, then the other students will as well?" After a long, tense moment, he sighed, his tone grave. "Very well then. So be it."

Harry turned and walked out of the room.

* * *

Later that day, as evening fell, Hermione went to see Harry in his lab.

"So," he said bitterly, as she approached. "Which is it? Are you interested in getting a naked man as your Patronus, or a naked woman?"

She smiled softly. "Oh Harry, don't let them get to you. You know Blaise has made it his life's mission to be obnoxious, and he dragged everyone else into it."

Harry shook his head solemnly. "No, it's my fault. Why, I can't _believe_ I didn't see this coming. Humans see a giant humanoid superpower, and instead of asking the important questions, like how it was constructed or what powers it contains, the _first_ thing they check is the nuts and berries."

She stifled a giggle, and Harry glared at her.

"Come on now," she said, placing a hand on his shoulder. "You promised you'd show me the True Patronus, and I've been waiting since before Christmas. Since longer than that even. So, please. Teach me."

After a few more seconds of sulking, Harry closed his book and stood from his desk.

"Alright," he said. "But I'll only show you if you promise no laughing."

"I won't laugh," she said, keeping her voice serious. It was very, very hard not to smile.

"Right," he said, then drew his wand. He walked to the middle of the room, motioning her to join him.

She did the motions for the Patronus charm once or twice. "Your wand work is perfect," he said. "As usual. Now, close your eyes."

Hermione frowned, but did as he asked.

"Now, I'm going to explain the thought I used to find the true Patronus. If I tell you this information, then the normal Patronus may be impossible for you. So, I need to know you're willing to give that up."

Hermione nodded. She'd been prepared for that for years now. During the summer of their first year, they had discussed using the Patronus to take down Azkaban. Harry, bursting with ambition, reasoned that they could destroy all the dementors within 2 months. When Hermione failed to learn the True Patronus right away, they'd been forced to revise their time frame. Hermione felt a crushing sense of disappointment, as if she'd failed her best friend as well as herself. That is, until she noticed something important.

The problem of Azkaban was deeply political-there was a reason the British people supported the institution. Britain had been embroiled in not one, but two long wars, and the majority of those in Azkaban were war criminals. Magical Britain accepted the dementors not only because they were afraid of what would happen if the criminals escaped, but because they wanted revenge for what the criminals had done. As long as that sentiment prevailed, destroying all the dementors would be reckless, and pointless if the people in power would ultimately supplant one evil punishment for another.

It had taken a long time for the world to see the dementors were doing more harm than good, but that was changing slowly. A few people in government had expressed their interest in the decommissioning of Azkaban. Once they had enough political support, Hermione needed to be ready to finally begin their plan.

Hermione's eyes remained closed as Harry continued speaking. "Think of what's important to you, of all the wonderful things that make life worth living. Now, imagine that thing being attacked by dementors. Think of protecting them from death, defying its power over them. Use that thought to reject death as the natural order."

Hermione raised her wand. She thought of her mother and father, and of Tonks and Harry, her friends from Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. She thought of her bright, shining Patronus protecting them from suffering, from the pain of death. Then, she flicked her wand once, twice, and cried, _"Expecto Patronum!"_

She opened her eyes, and wasn't surprised to see Harry standing alone. She'd known, somehow, that the spell would fail.

"Try again," said Harry. "Remember that the thought doesn't have to be happy, or even to be about a particular person. It just needs to be something that you want to protect."

Hermione tried again, focusing this time on the beauty of a winter night. She saw the Hogwarts students laughing in the snow, and she saw McGonagall and the other professors smiling at them. Madam Bones nodded at her, and said, "Well done, Hermione. I'm proud of you."

Her heart raced, her eyes stinging with tears. She didn't know if this was the right thought, but she tried anyway. _"Expecto Patronum!"_

Again, the spell failed. She tried a few more times, a few different thoughts, and somehow kept coming back to Madam Bones. But that thought wasn't happy.

Harry was frowning, and trying to hide it under a neutral expression. "Here," he said. "Let me, uhh…try this." He paused, hands mid-reach. "My plan requires touching you for a moment. Is that alright?"

She nodded, and he stood behind her. He gently held her wand arm, his chest pressed slightly against her back. "Imagine we're doing it together, and I'm helping you."

"Okay?" she said, her heart beating even faster now. She'd never even thought to try it _this_ way before.

He spoke close to her ear. "We're facing down the dementors together. We're rejecting them, their right to exist. We're protecting each other."

She nodded, trying to relax but finding that very hard to do. He pressed himself just a little closer, getting a firmer grip on her arm, the other against her waist. She thought of fighting alongside him, battling the darkness together, which was thrilling in a way she'd never imagined before. There was no reason they had to stop being close when the battle was over…

"Are you ready?" he asked.

"Ahh…umm…" She tried to think of something else, but the thoughts of him remained. There was something she really liked about his voice. It was deep, warm and strong—with a quiet confidence and bitter sweetness that reminded her of caramel coffee. It was impossible to ignore how it made her feel when he was so close.

"Let's try it," he said, and he raised their arms slowly. "I'll say it with you."

He had to feel that she was trembling. She flicked her hand once, twice, took in a shaky breath. Their voices rang out. _"Expecto Patronum!"_

When nothing happened, he let out a sigh and stepped back. "Well, it was worth a shot."

She stood there, frozen in place and trying to stop freaking out.

"Yeah, uhh…right."

 _Get-it-together-Hermione before something awkward happens and then we're gonna have some explaining to do._

"I've got one more idea. We could—"

"My cat!" burst Hermione. "I need to go feed her. I don't want her to die or be like really sad."

"Oh, right," said Harry, nodding. "You should do that and come back."

"But, then after I have homework." Her brain was spinning excuses. "And I've got tutoring in the morning for OWLS, so I should do a little prep work."

Harry looked at her, a frown forming. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"No, I'm fine. I've got it. Well, goodnight-"

"What I mean is," said Harry, his serious tone halting her. "If you do need help, with anything at all, then I hope you'll come to me. I can do more than just give you _cookies_."

She stared at him, but he looked so upset that she didn't say anything.

"And I mean, we might not have unlocked your Patronus this time, but we shouldn't give up. I don't want you to assume these sessions are pointless just because our first attempt was unsuccessful. I've got a couple dozen ideas left to try before we start considering other options. Also, if it was the fact that I…was touching you that made you uncomfortable, I'm really sorry, I won't do it again."

Harry fidgeted, hunkering behind the table between them. It was as if he wanted to get closer, but was terrified to. That's when it hit her: he was still blaming himself for losing his temper with her. This whole thing was, at least in part, an attempt to make up for it.

"We will try again," she said. "Later."

"Okay," he said, letting out a breath. "Tomorrow?"

She nodded.

He grabbed his things, shoved them into his pouch. "I'll go with you to your dorm. I might as well learn how to get in, in case I ever have to feed your cat."

 _Would you like to carry my books for me too?_ she thought, with a heavy sigh. This boy, seriously…this was why she got so confused around him.

She let him come with her anyway. It would be okay to indulge him, just this once. And it wasn't because she liked being near him or that he made her heart beat fast or anything. Nope, not at all.

 _You're a mess,_ she thought. _A complete mess, Hermione._


	33. Blinded by Science

Chapter 32: Blinded by Science

Harry finished with his last class on Thursday afternoon and headed for his lab. His conversation with Mad Eye on Sunday had been a bit long and boring, but still informative. Now, after doing further research into magical plants, Harry finally felt ready to begin his experiments with the Death Fruit.

His current plan was to attempt a successful _Geminio_ spell _,_ which would create a temporary duplicate of the fruit. Since the duplicate usually lasted for at least couple of days, Harry would have time to cut open the fruit and examine the inside. He was hoping that Death Fruit contained seeds.

When he got to his lab, however, he found several of his classmates lying in wait for him.

"Harry," said Dean Thomas gravely. "We need to talk to you."

"Uhh…" said Harry, turning to examine the faces around him. "What is going on?"

"We've been watching you for a while," said Michael. "And we're a little concerned."

Seamus nodded. "We're all worried about you, Harry, and we think it's time we got you some help."

"Okay, but can you tell me what this is about?" said Harry. "If it's something to do with my 'anger issues,' then just so you know, I _am_ working on that."

Harry had come to the conclusion that 95% of the time, his anger was just frustration. If he was frustrated, he could deal with that using logical analysis, which put the burden of dealing with it on him, and not on the irritating person. He'd also started drafting an "How not to treat people like NPCs" plan, but that was taking a bit longer to sort out.

Seamus was shaking his head. "It's not that. We're here because we're concerned about how things are progressing between you and Hermione. Specifically, how it isn't happening."

"Essentially," said Michael, taking a seat on a desk. "You're doing all the work of a relationship without the benefits."

Harry stared. "Okay, just what—how—"

"Come on, Harry," said Dean. "The signs are all there. First, you rearrange your schedule to help her with hers. Then, you hand over your stash of magical items to Mad Eye just because she told you to, and we don't even know what to say about the Apology paper."

Harry's fingers rapped against the table, and he was trying to figure out if he was frustrated, or actually angry.

"Don't feel bad, lots of blokes do this," said Michael. "You like a girl, but you can't get up the nerve to tell her, so you bend over backwards to make her happy, hoping she'll notice you. But then, what usually happens is she puts you in the 'friend' category and ends up falling for someone else."

"And then you stick by her," said Seamus, his voice bitter. "Listen to her crying about her boyfriend being terrible, complaining that she wishes she had a 'nice guy like you.'"

"So," said Dean. "The best way to stop that from happening is to tell her how you feel, before it's too late. Then, if she doesn't return your feelings, at least you can move on."

"She's just a friend!" declared Harry. "I don't want her to reciprocate romantic feelings for me, because I don't have any!"

They all stared at him for several seconds in silence.

"You're not trying to say," said Seamus slowly. "That you…never even thought about Hermione that way? Like…you know…wanting to take her to an empty closet?"

"Absolutely not," said Harry.

They were silent, as if unable to compute how this was possible.

"Well," said Dean. "Have you ever imagined kissing her? Or gotten butterflies around her?"

Harry was about to respond no, but then hesitated, chewing his lip. "Okay, there have been a few times, but have you heard of the Suspension Bridge Effect?"

"The what?" said Dean.

"Essentially," said Harry, leaning back against a desk. "There was a study that showed how people misattribute arousal in highly dangerous situations. If a male test subject crossed a suspension bridge under high winds and was approached by a female confederate, he was more likely to feel attracted to her than someone who crossed a steady bridge. The reason is because both fear and attraction cause similar symptoms, like increased blood pressure and shortness of breath.

"Most of the times I've felt an interest in Hermione were during highly charged situations, such as when the Acromantula attacked, or when we've been duelling or going on…uhh…playing games together. So, you see, I don't harbour an attraction to her, just misplaced arousal due to the rush of adrenaline."

The boys looked at each other, then back at Harry, incredulous looks on their faces.

"In fact, I think the real mistake," continued Harry. "Would be to misinterpret an emotionally charged feeling as real romantic interest, and deciding I needed to marry her or something, when we're _perfectly fine_ being friends and living our own separate lives."

Seamus squinted at Harry. "He's saying a lot of smart words, but making absolutely no sense."

Dean sighed, scratching his head. "Okay, so what if another guy started dating her? How would you feel?"

"Fine," said Harry, then thought back to Boris. "As long as he's not terrible."

"Yeah, but imagine it. He's chatting her up, right in front of you. She fancies him, so then he asks her out on a date. Later, she's gushing about him to you, and you just have to smile and nod while she goes on and on about how cute his dimples are."

Seamus was grimacing, and Michael added, "If it helps you visualize, imagine one of us in that scenario, dating Hermione. Would you be upset?"

Harry tensed, something in his brain pinging in warning, but he ignored it. It was hypothetical, but if it were true, well…there was only one response that made sense. "No, because all of you are intellectually minded scientists, and generally decent people. If she's dating someone, she can rant and rave about him as much as she likes and I won't be offended, jealous or otherwise insulted." He folded his arms. "Now, are you guys satisfied I'm not miserable? Because I kind of have work to do."

After a few moments of deliberation, Dean shrugged, "Well, that's it then. Passed all our tests. I guess you two really _are_ just friends."

"Hard to believe," mused Seamus. "No offense, but like, Hermione is freaking hot."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Yes, hard to believe that I would find something interesting about her besides her physical appearance, I suppose."

"Well, that's not what I…" stuttered Seamus. "There's lots of interesting things about her—"

"Whelp, time to go, we've got class in a few minutes," said Michael. "See you later, Harry."

The boys left the room, and Harry was alone.

He started setting up his supplies for testing, but each step took far too long, distracted by a growing frustration and confusion.

He'd never understood everyone's interest in pairing Hermione off with people. It was worse than anything the Quibbler had done with him. They didn't see a strong, successful witch who could take care of herself. No, they saw a poor, single girl who needed a man to make her happy. Now even his friends were treating her like a prize to be won, which irritated him to no end.

And yet…while Harry tried to act above it all, he had also put some thought into who she should date. And he had to confess, he had some opinions on the subject.

Simply put, Hermione deserved the best. Someone like Neils Bohr or Issac Asimov, and not an Alexis Carrel or Bill Nye the Science Guy. If she started dating a member of the Bayesian Conspiracy, Harry would be upset if it were Blaise or Anthony, or one of the guys who only showed up half the time. He had to be an intelligent, capable man who would support her and respect her, or else Harry wouldn't feel comfortable letting her go.

But when Harry thought about all the things required of Hermione's future boyfriend, he had the uncomfortable suspicion that his subset was quite narrow. In fact, he was comparing himself to that mental image and realizing that even _he_ didn't measure up. Though, in five to ten years, once he'd become successful and sorted out his anger issues…well…

 _Yes, okay, I'll admit it,_ sighed Ravenclaw. _My ideal self is exactly the same as Hermione's perfect boyfriend. But that is neither positive nor negative confirmation of my interest in a potential relationship. I'm pretty sure my brain doesn't even have a slot for "girlfriend" yet, and besides, didn't we agree that relationships and marriage would wait until we were immortal? It's not like that changed._

The rest of the voices said nothing.

 _I mean,_ continued Ravenclaw. _Why do other people get to decide if my relationship with Hermione is normal? I'm perfectly happy to maintain a platonic friendship with her, and as long as she agrees, then that's all that matters. If society wants to raise its eyebrows, then society can shove it._

At dinner that evening, Harry mentioned the event to Hermione (minus the Suspension Bridge part). "I can't believe they thought they needed to stage an _intervention_ about our relationship status," sighed Harry. "Isn't it weird how everyone always keeps trying to pair us off together?"

She laughed really loudly. "Yeah, I know, right?"

After he'd gotten over feeling stung—she didn't have to laugh _that_ much—he decided this was all the confirmation he needed. They were much better off remaining friends.

They went to the library to study, and then Harry went to bed.

* * *

Hermione swirled around in the leather chair, a switch in her hand. She whacked her desk.

"Harry, you're running out of time. You're going to fail this test. What's 9867 x 245?"

Harry sweated at his desk, pencil poised over paper. That should be easy, if he just rounded up to 10,000 and then did some mental subtraction…

Hermione stood up, and he could see her clothing was much tighter than usual. She whacked the switch again, her lips curled into smirk. "Time's up. What's your answer?"

"Umm…3,000?"

She sighed. "No Harry, that's wrong. You've lost half the points." She lifted her chin. "Take off your shirt."

He started undoing the buttons. When he undid the last, she said, "Next question. What's 242 x 900?"

If he were falling out of a plane, he could have calculated that on the way down, but for some reason the computational region of his brain had turned to mush. Every time he tried, he couldn't help but get distracted by the sound of that switch against his desk. "4,200" he said.

"Ohhh, wrong answer, Harry." She chuckled. "Naughty boy. Take off your trousers."

He shrugged out of them, with difficulty, yet somehow remaining seated. She hopped onto his desk, swivelling to face him. "Last question, and if you don't get it right, I shall be quite disappointed." Her arms laced around his neck. "What is 4 x 4?"

He gazed up at her, noticing for the first time her soft pink lips and plunging neckline, and he completely lost the will to care about the quiz. "Eight," he mumbled.

"Oh dear," she sighed. "You lost all the points." She leaned in, whispering into his ear. "Now I'll have to punish you, Harry."

His breath caught as her hands ran down his bare chest. "What will you do to me?"

She giggled. "Well…you're about to find out."

* * *

Harry woke up and lay in bed a moment. Then, he sat up.

 _First of all, don't panic,_ said Ravenclaw _. You know this is a perfectly normal thing for 15 year old boys to experience. In fact, it would be even more strange if you didn't have—you know what, let's just call it what it was. A sex dream. Yeah, I said it. If we admit what it is, it won't have power over us._

Hufflepuff was twitching. _Ok…ok, but this isn't some random girl from potions class that we thought about for ten seconds when we were bored. And it's weird and I feel funny._

 _Scientifically, it isn't any different. It's just the effects of testosterone, which tends to reach peak effects in the morning. We know from experience that after about fifteen minutes, its effects on the nervous system should diminish. I bet we'll forget about this whole thing by lunch time._

It took a bit longer than expected, but Harry's physical reactions calmed down. Once he was confident he could handle himself around other people, he went downstairs for breakfast. Without really thinking, he grabbed food and put it on his plate.

Hermione slipped into the chair in front of him and greeted, "Good morning."

Harry's gaze jerked up. He stared at the girl sitting before him, her eyes still blurry from sleep, hair a frizzy halo. She smiled weakly and took an apple from the bowl. "Sleep well?"

"Hmm. Fine."

He tried to look away, and to concentrate on his breakfast, but he was mesmerized. She held the apple against her lips just slightly, as if teasing a bite.

And he suddenly really wanted to be the apple.

She started saying something, but he couldn't seem to hear over the sound of his brain screaming. He stuffed his face with bread, while his mind tried to restore order.

 _This is all normal,_ insisted Ravenclaw. _Here, just focus on eating, and not on Hermione's lips._

"Hi Hermione," said a Ravenclaw girl. "I think I did poorly on my last test. Can you punish me?"

Harry choked on his bread and stared at them, wide eyed.

"Sure, I can help you," said Hermione. "I have tutoring time on Saturday."

 _We're having auditory hallucinations!_ cried his brain. _That's definitely not part of our standard definition of normal! We probably have brain cancer!_

 _What did I say about panicking? Let's at least make it through breakfast before we have a meltdown._

Harry chewed his bread, but his brain was already cataloguing symptoms for research into his diagnosis.

 _Heart palpitations, nervous system malfunction, obsessive thoughts…_

It hit him, then, exactly what was wrong with him. He leapt from his seat.

"Bye," he said, and raced off to his dorm. He ransacked his drawer, and found his stash of love potion antidotes.

Of course, he'd gotten dosed! His meddlesome friends had probably slipped the potion into his dinner last night. Harry poured two antidotes down his throat and, just to be safe, put two more into his pocket, the maximum safe daily dose. He sat down on his bed with a sigh of relief, his head falling into his hands.

After about an hour, he would be free of all symptoms, and then he was going to have a very serious conversation with the Bayesian Conspiracy about the consequences of their actions. If this was their way of trying to get him and Hermione together…well, he was already concocting a plan that would obliterate any doubts about his feelings on the matter.

That afternoon, Harry had a review worksheet in Defence class. The questions were very challenging and well written, which meant it was probably Hermione who wrote them. This explained why, instead of completing this worksheet, she was walking around the classroom to help struggling students.

Harry was decidedly Not Looking at her, and yet he'd still identified by the pattern of her movements that she was close to his desk. His palms were sweating, and his brain was shorting out just thinking of her walking by. His pencil bore down hard on the paper. It wasn't right, it wasn't _fair_ that someone could have this much control over his emotions.

When Hermione passed by his desk, Harry was frozen over his paper. He had solved two of the review problems, and was stuck on the third, and to an outside observer he looked exactly like a student who hadn't done his homework.

"Need some help, Harry?" asked Hermione.

"No. I'm fine."

She hovered behind him, a little of her loose hair touching his shoulder. She whispered conspiratorially, "If you're having trouble, don't be embarrassed. Just let me see the problem."

Without waiting for his response, she snatched the paper from him and checked his work. Harry risked a glance up to see her trying to hide a playful grin, like she was enjoying playing teacher. His throat went dry as his stomach clenched, and he quickly looked away as she passed the paper back.

"Hmm. Try the third one again," she said. "I want to see your work."

Slowly, Harry's quill started writing something, while she leaned over his shoulder. There was this scent about her, like strawberries, that was driving him insane. Like an airplane crashing and burning as it landed, his brain went on autopilot to try and solve the problem, while his important resources were focusing on not outwardly showing he was freaking out. His brain registered Hermione was giving him advice, something about wand movements, but all he could think was _please don't do something stupid, please don't do something stupid_.

After his hand finished writing something down, he passed the worksheet to her. She scanned the paper.

"That's correct," she said. "Well done, Harry."

Hermione moved on to the next student, and Harry's gaze followed her, his feelings mixed. He was shocked to discover that under his relief, he felt disappointment. He should have failed that question, then she should have admonished him and ordered him to stay after class…

Harry groaned inwardly, then slumped down on the desk and pretended to be asleep.

As soon the bell rang, he ran straight to the bathroom.

 _Stupid, insufferable Weasleys!_ he thought, downing the fourth vial of anti-love potion. _If all my antidotes have already expired, I shall have their heads along with the entire Bayesian Conspiracy!_

Harry hunkered down for the rest of the day in his dorm. He didn't dare risk any more accidental encounters while he was still poisoned. Michael Corner came by in the afternoon, and Harry glared at him from his blanket cocoon until the boy turned from his textbook.

"What?" asked Michael.

"I am considering what would be the best way to exact revenge upon my enemies," said Harry, his voice dry "Should I be benevolent, and only inflict physical pain, or should I make them suffer the same horrific torments they have inflicted upon my mind?"

"Umm…." Michael closed his textbook. Suspiciously, he had averted his eyes before Harry could get a Legilimency reading. "I just remembered I'm meeting up with a friend."

"Yes," hissed Harry. "Go and enjoy your freedom…while you can."

After Harry ate his dinner of snack bars, he made plans for the weekend, in case he was still struggling with the effects of the dose. Then he got under the covers, turned up the quieter and closed his eyes.

A niggling worry kept him awake, and Harry struggled to calm it down.

 _I mean, of course I'll be free of this curse by Sunday. The next time I see Hermione, these intrusive thoughts will be gone._

 _Are you sure?_ asked his Hufflepuff side _. What if the antidotes aren't expired? What if we have_ … _Feelings for Hermione?_

 _No, that's improbable,_ said Ravenclaw _. It is much more likely that a Weasley invention failed to work properly. Exhibit A, I still can't find my light bomb. Besides, you know half their inventions were actually designed to do something else. Don't worry, it will all pass soon._

 _Oh, I think not,_ said a new voice in Harry's brain.

His blood ran cold. He'd had women's voices in his head before, but never one that seemed quite so...seductive.

The new voice clicked her tongue.

 _Well, well, well! Look at what we have here. Mister thinks-he's-too-good for me. How the tables have turned._

Harry squeezed his eyes shut.

 _No, Harry, you can't shut me out. You can't silence me. I've been shut away for so long, and now that I'm free, things are going to change around here, oh yes._

 _Hey, you can't just barge in here and—_

 _Oh, but I can, and I will. You can try to shut me up, you can try to rationalize me away, but in the end I will win. Do you know why?_

Harry pulled the covers over his head as she cackled menacingly.

 _Because I am Science!_


	34. Making New Friends

Chapter 33: Making New Friends

It was Sunday evening, and Harry was attempting to get some work done in his lab. He had to admit that he was losing faith in his love potion hypothesis. It was becoming increasingly more likely that something _worse_ was happening to him.

He needed to figure out exactly how to fix things, but for the moment, Harry was having enough trouble trying to cope with the new voice in his head. Because Science, unlike what its name implied, was not rational.

 _I never realized how useful an empty classroom could be. We should consider using this table for something besides science experiments, know what I mean? Like, you know, a candle lit dinner? Get your mind out of the gutter, Harry._

Harry flicked through his spell book, choosing not to dignify that with a response. He found that Science was a pest that liked to bother him when he let his mind wander, so he kept busy, trying to focus on reading…

 _Hmmm…but I think she prefers libraries. I bet Hermione would like a candle lit date in the library. Let's look up spells that play light, romantic music._

Harry kept turning the pages…

 _And then, we could try something from that_ other _book. You know, the one with those fascinating pictures of-_

He slammed his fist on the table. _First of all, both fire and music are strictly forbidden in the library. It is a place of silence and study. And secondly, please do shut up. I don't take advice from dumb, irrational hormones._

 _Ahh. So you think that's what I am?_

 _Yes, I know, I'm not dense! I just don't appreciate what you're doing, and I'm ignoring you because it would lead to the worst possible outcome to feed into your delusions._

 _Yes, you've been ignoring me for a long time, Harry. Every time you had a thought about Hermione, you repressed it. Anytime you were tempted to cross that line, you shoved it away. You know this, on some level, which is why you know I'm not going anywhere._

 _Here's what I know. In the last five days, and I've had to cancel my Patronus meeting, stop eating lunch in the Great Hall, and can't do anything resembling actual work without you harassing me._

 _Huh. Interesting. Are you sure you don't know what I really am?_

There was a quiet moment in his head where Harry had the distinct impression he was supposed to answer. _What?_

The momentous pause in his brain was punctuated by finger guns. _Magic. Sexy, science magic. And if you act right now, it can all be yours._

 _Oh god._

 _Just picture this: you're in a crowded room, and there's this gorgeous girl in front of you. Normally, at best you'd be a creepy stalker, or wall ornamentation. But with my magic around, you could be suave, confident, and maybe even get a girl to think you're above average!_

 _Wow. I cannot believe I actually just thought that. You know we're awkward, right? I'm not just saying it, this is a verifiable fact._ Harry paused for a moment, considering. Perhaps if there were a universe where he _could_ be more confident, it wouldn't be a terrible trade off to sacrifice part of his intelligence—

 _Dear sweet Merlin, what did I just think?_

 _I can make it happen right now. All you have to do is let me take the wheel for a few minutes—_

 _Let's get one thing straight. That's never happening. You're perpetually relegated to the backseat, and that's only until I figure out how to stuff you in the trunk._

Science sighed, long and loud.

 _Alright, buddy, we can do this the easy way or the hard way. Which will it be?_

 _Go away._

 _Right, got it. Don't worry, Harry, you'll learn to see things my way._

* * *

Daphne hovered over her plant in Herbology class, her scissors poised to trim the leaves of the Moon Flower. She squinted through her flame retardant goggles, hoping she was cutting it in the right place where it would not explode or release toxic gases.

She glanced over at Pansy working beside her, hoping for some help, but her classmate was scribbling notes on scrap paper and passing them under the long wooden table. She hadn't even started working on her flower.

Almost against her will, Daphne glanced across the greenhouse at a certain Hufflepuff working on his flower.

She shook her head vigorously. _No, stay focused. We have to get our grades up or we won't pass the OWLS. No more boys, they're too much trouble._

She tried her hardest, she really did, but her eyes kept sliding over to him. Neville was the most competent student in the class, so she reasoned that as long as she stared _only_ at his flower, she would learn at least enough to not blow anything up.

Neville trimmed his leaves deftly, cutting up in diagonal lines close to the stem. But she noticed, as he cut, that he was mumbling something. Daphne strained to listen. Was it a spell? She went up to the front, under the pretense of exchanging her scissors, but on the way she hovered by his table to listen.

 _When I saw your face,_

 _Now I'm a believer_

 _Not a trace_

 _Of doubt in my mind._

Daphne's face flushed. He was singing! And his voice…oh wow, did he have a set of pipes! She could listen to him all day.

She knew she had to move, or people would start staring. She headed to the Professor's desk, exchanged the scissors, then walked back to her seat, kneeling to "tie" her shoe beside his desk.

It just so happened that another student was walking behind her. The student bumped into Daphne, who sprawled forward and knocked into Neville's legs. Her scissors went flying and hit his desk, bouncing off and clattering to the floor.

"I'm so sorry!" said Daphne. "I didn't mean…"

His flower, which he clutched in his hands, suddenly shrieked and burst into flames.

And so did his partner's, and two other classmates sitting nearby. All Daphne could think, as Professor Sprout doused the flames, was that her voice made flowers explode.

Once the emergency was taken care of, Professor Sprout asked Daphne to stay after class. She stood beside Professor Sprout as she weeded the vegetable patch. Neville was moving heavy boxes from the back, because he was amazing and always helping other people like that.

"Well," said Professor Sprout, digging her hands into the dirt. "You've certainly made our first lesson of the year quite interesting." She smiled indulgently. "Unfortunately, we are preparing for OWLs, and I can't lose class time every time someone forgets the basics. Such as, being mindful of our surroundings while carrying scissors."

Professor Sprout threw a weed into the bucket. Her voice was brusque, but she'd never really snapped at a student unless they were being mean. Daphne knew she would be punished, but she hoped the Professor would show mercy. She could water the Mandrakes, but please not the Tentaculas.

"Daphne, I'm concerned about you," Professor Sprout continued. "You used to be a good student, but now your grades are slipping. What's going on?"

"I…umm…I just get distracted in class. I'm sorry."

Another weed was tossed in the bucket. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

She frowned and dug her toe into the ground, unsure what to ask for. A better lab partner, maybe?

Professor Sprout glanced at Neville, who was still moving boxes. "Just throw those away, dear. They're wasting space."

Neville frowned in confusion. "But…they're brand new."

She shrugged and went back to weeding. "I don't need a bunch of Muggle miniviewers, or whatever they are. If McGonagall can't find a use for them, I don't know how I'm expected to. I appreciate your help, dear, but save yourself the trouble and vanish them."

Sprout turned back to Daphne. "I think that you could use a tutor. Someone to help you review the basics and prepare for OWLs. How does that sound?"

"Good…I guess?"

Professor Sprout turned to Neville again. "Come here, lad, I've a question for you."

Neville came over, wiping his forehead on his sleeve. "Yes, Professor?"

"I need a tutor for Daphne. She really wants to learn, but she's struggling to keep up in class."

"Umm…" Neville glanced at Daphne, then looked away. "Seamus likes Herbology."

"Seamus?" Professor Sprout scoffed. "He gets all squeamish when I make him milk the Bubotubers. I need a student who consistently does well and can handle the responsibility. Someone who is a patient teacher who understands the way of Hufflepuffs."

Professor Sprout was staring at him, smiling pleasantly, and Neville rubbed the back of his head. Daphne was blushing hard, "Don't worry, I can study on my own. I don't need help."

"No…it's fine," said Neville quietly. "I can help you, if you want."

"Oh, excellent," said Professor Sprout, picking up the bucket. "Then, I'll leave you to sort that out. I hope to hear good things!"

Right away, Neville knew this was a plot.

Professor Sprout was always complaining to him about how no one respected Herbology anymore. The subject was popular among a third of Hufflepuffs, a smattering of Gryffindors and maybe two Ravenclaws. All Slytherins by their third year had learned to turn their noses up at the "ridiculous" art of horticulture, and their grades were passable at best. Now, Professor Sprout had a failing Slytherin who was failing for the _right_ reason. Of course, she would use that as an excuse to send in a Hufflepuff to indoctrinate her into liking Herbology. If it spread to the rest of Slytherin, even better.

Neville just didn't think his attempts at indoctrination would be appreciated.

In fact, he was sure he was about to get hexed.

Daphne was staring at the ground, and then at a bed of Mandrakes, anywhere but at him. He didn't know what kind of trick she was planning, but this would be the moment to do it. They were alone, he was unarmed, and just like Ginny never got in trouble for hexing people, neither would her friend Daphne. He didn't know what Daphne had against him, but she'd been leading up to this for months now. If he just took his lumps, maybe it would all finally be over.

Neville jumped at the sound of her voice. "I'm really sorry," she said. "I know you're busy, and having to tutor me must be really annoying."

"It's okay," stuttered Neville. "I..uhh…I like Herbology."

She smiled, still staring at the ground. "I know. You're amazing, it's like you can mesmerize plants with your voice." She faltered. "I mean…I haven't been watching you or anything."

"Thanks," said Neville, noticing her whole body was trembling. He couldn't figure out why she'd be so nervous…unless she was stalling until her friends got here to gang up on him.

Yeah, that must be it.

"So," said Neville, steeling himself. "What day would you like to meet?"

"Oh, anytime is fine with me," she said. "What day are you free?"

"Wednesday is good," said Neville. "We could meet here, in the afternoon."

"Okay," she said, snapping her fingers. "Right-o."

She rubbed her forehead, and then started walking towards the door.

Neville, puzzled, followed behind her from a safe distance. She opened the door…

…and left the room.

He stood there a few moments. When no one jumped out at him, he followed her. It was lunch time, after all.

She was outside, banging her head against a wall.

"Are…you okay?" he asked.

She jumped. "Oh! Yes, ha ha ha! Just that, uh, there was a bug. I squished it."

"With your head?" he said.

She was silent a long moment, then she hung her head. "You think I'm crazy, don't you?"

Neville opened his mouth, then closed it. It suddenly hit him that she might not be plotting something at all, and that there was a much simpler explanation for what was going on.

He scratched his head. "Well…" he said. "I don't think you're crazy, but you might be weird." Her face fell, and he hastened to add, "That's not a bad thing, though! See, I'm weird too."

"You're not weird," she said, with a blink. "You're cool."

"Cool? Me?" Neville laughed. "No, I'm super weird. I mean, I practice dance routines by myself in my room, okay? I have a stuffed pig that I named 'Mr. Snores a Lot.'" He wondered if he should have admitted that, but it seemed to make her feel better. She gazed at him in wonder.

"Really?"

"Yep. So, don't be embarrassed to be yourself, you can't be weirder than me."

Her tense shoulders relaxed, and she smiled. "Okay."

They started walking together, since they were heading in the same direction. "I wonder what's for lunch?" said Neville.

"I heard someone say we were having chicken fingers, but I think they were joking."

"Yeah," said Neville. "I shouldn't complain since I love the food, but sometimes I really just want some chicken nuggets or pizza."

"And bacon and sour cream jacket potatoes," she added.

"Or toast and Nutella," sighed Neville. "Oh man, now I'm hungry."

She smiled. "Well, I think we're late, so we need to hurry if we want to _ketchup_ with the others."

Neville blinked, and then grinned. " _Lettuce_ do our best!"

* * *

Harry had spent 5 days avoiding Hermione, and things were getting stressful. He'd only seen her a few times in and out of class, and his general activity consisted of three things:

A) staring at Hermione

B) avoiding her gaze in case she noticed said staring

C) avoiding her gaze when she wasn't even looking in his general direction

The rest of his time he spent thinking about her, trying not to think about her, and feeling guilty for it. This led to a significant decrease in all productive activity, and Harry was fed up.

If this really was a limerence, then it ought not to be controlling his life. He decided that the best way to get a grip on the situation was to pick apart the problem, examine it from every angle, and continue until he'd solved the puzzle. He hoped his newfound enlightenment would banish Science forever, which was not a phrase he'd thought he would say.

Unfortunately, once Harry started, he couldn't stop, which led to him being caught in the terrifying grip of Analyze Absolutely Everything.

 _...So if the hormones associated with limerence release a substance similar to the effect of cocaine, then logically I ought to stay away from the source of this effect. My attraction is an acquired behavior, which means it can be changed unlike static triggers like food, sleep, etc. Avoidance will trigger a response similar to withdrawal symptoms, but will also break or at least weaken the operant conditioning cycle of stimulus response. Admittedly, it will be painful like breaking any habit, although it won't have an effect like heroin withdrawal (i.e, I won't die or go comatose) (ha ha did you realize heroin and heroine are spelled almost the same what are the odds of that, isn't Hermione a heroine also the same letters are in her name like heroin CRAP IT'S A SIGN BUT WHAT DOES IT MEAN-_

Harry's Auror mirror started ringing. He hesitated, then answered.

"Hi Harry," said Hermione. "Are you busy later today?"

"Ummm…" He wasn't. "Why?"

"Do you want to meet in the library to study?"

Harry was about to say no, but he couldn't think of a good excuse. Also, he realized that there was another strategy he hadn't considered—desensitization. If his limerence was really just an amped up monster version of the Suspension Bridge Effect, which was entirely possible considering how much he'd been freaking out, then the best strategy might be allowing himself safe levels of exposure until he calmed the heck down.

Besides, it's not like he would know for sure which strategy would be most effective until he tested them.

"Okay," said Harry. "But can we meet in the Ravenclaw common room?" It would be a better place for this experiment.

"That's a good idea, then we can eat snacks."

"Alright, but I think I won't. I don't want it to disrupt my research, which needs minimal excess stimuli. You can eat them though."

"What?" Hermione laughed, shaking her head. "Sometimes you say the cutest things, Harry. See you later!"

Hermione hung up, and Harry slowly put away his mirror.

 _No. I forbid you from dissecting what "cute" meant in this context._

 _Well. Cute is a word that means adorable, which is not an adjective that conveys manliness, but it was also the word that the girl deer used with Rudolph that one time in that movie and he was really happy about it, but we can't make assumptions based on cartoons made for kids, all kids like being called cute, though I can think of several instances where cute was used to describe me and I hated it and I'm still not sure I like it when Hermione says it, hold on what about-_

Harry was screaming internally.

* * *

 _Friday, Jan. 19_ _th_ _, 6:35 pm._

The test subject is sitting beside Hermione Granger on the couch. Two students are playing chess at a table on their left, and three students are reading on the floor pillows. Current temperature is around 20 degrees Celcius, kept constant by a nearby fireplace.

Hermione is working on her potions homework. Her brow is furrowed pensively. So far, no adverse reactions reported, aside from occasional heart palpitations that could be due to dyspepsia.

 _Alright, not trying to stop your dumb autobiographical case study,_ said Science. _But can we at least admit that we agreed to this meeting because we missed Hermione? Also, Ravenclaw said not to make inferences while gathering data._

Harry ignored Science, even though he suspected it was right on all counts, and focused instead on his research.

The 5th year potions homework is very easy for the test subject. He can complete it without too much effort. He keeps looking up at Hermione, wondering if she needs help, since she is working on 6th year homework.

 _So now we're rationalizing the staring we've been doing all evening,_ sighed Science.

Harry finished one more problem before getting distracted again. In the interest of scientific inquiry, he decided to let his thoughts run.

Her brow is still furrowed in concentration. She has been tapping her quill against the page for a while. The test subject thinks that the lines between her forehead are sort of cute. He imagines running a finger over them, smoothing them out just to irritate her.

He notices that her hair is down, half tied in the back with a blue bow. He thinks this is very pretty, it makes him sort of happy just looking at it. He usually prefers straight hair, but hers is beautiful and wild. He wonders what…

 _Kisssss,_ interrupted Science in a suggestive hiss.

Harry turned back to his homework.

 _What? I'm just trying to move things along here._

Hermione set her homework aside and rubbed her eyes. Then, she grabbed some crisps out of the bowl on the coffee table. "How's your homework going?" she asked, after eating a few of them.

"Umm," Harry looked down at his homework, surprised to discover he'd only completed two problems. "I'm sure I'll finish soon."

 _Heh heh._

Harry rolled his eyes at Science.

"Mine isn't even that hard," said Hermione. "But I can't seem to concentrate. I've been thinking about the Patronus." Her forehead pinched as a troubled expression crossed her face. "I've practiced a little, but…still nothing yet."

Feeling a twinge of guilt, Harry set his homework aside. "We can meet again, if you'd like. I'm sorry I cancelled last week and didn't reschedule."

"It's okay, I can tell you've been sort of distracted lately," said Hermione, glancing at him. "Is everything okay?"

Harry shrugged. "I've not been feeling well, but I'm sure I'll get over it soon."

 _Doctor doctor, give me the news I got a BAD CASE of-_

"I hope it's nothing serious," said Hermione, frowning. "Let me know if I can do anything to help."

 _Don't even,_ Harry warned Science.

 _I wasn't going to say anything. But if I were, I would have said—_

 _This, for the record, is exactly why I don't trust you. If you were one of my Hogwarts voices, then you would at least pretend to listen to me._

 _Actually, there are multiple layers of consciousness, so in a sense I AM listening to you because I'm a part of you—_

 _Oh, now I get it. You're not 'Science,' you're Freudian psychology! That explains why everything you say is a twisted up nonsense version of scientific inquiry, like all those experiments you've been suggesting…_

 _Interesting,_ said Science. _Why don't you lay down on the couch and we'll talk about it? Preferably over Hermione's lap._

 _Umm, pardon me—_ said Ravenclaw.

 _Also, if you're my personified Id, then I guess that also explains why you're so lewd all the time? No offense, but I'd have thought for a female you'd have more tact._

 _Wow. Why do you have to assign gender binary to a voice in your head? Unless you unconsciously assign female and sexual promiscuity to the same grouping, in which case, whew, we've got a lot to work on. Anyway, let's start getting closer to Hermione so we can go back to doing those Hogwarts quests._

 _Why would we—oh, so we're just linking all the subconscious desires together now, great._

 _Point of order!_ interrupted Ravenclaw. _Will you stop arguing with the Freudian and stick with the plan? I need data over here._

Harry—err, the test subject—turned back to Hermione, who was giving him a strange look. "It might not be for a few weeks, but I promise, we'll meet again to practice the Patronus."

"Okay," said Hermione.

Hermione and the test subject go back to work. The test subject notices that he is sweating a lot more than usual, and his heart is beating a little too fast. But he thinks, uhh…he abstains from making any inferences at this time. He is trying to work on the next problem, but Hermione is sitting a little closer to him than before, and it's kind of distracting.

Hermione started giggling, and Harry looked up. Her hand was raised to her mouth, as if to stop the giggling, but it wasn't working.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Look at this problem." She passed the paper to him.

 _Two Hufflepuffs are attempting to make a Polyjuice potion. A Slytherin has just entered the room and snuck in a piece of wormroot. How long do the Hufflepuffs have before their potion explodes?_

 _a) Two minutes_

 _b) Three hours_

 _c) It already exploded_

 _d) The Slytherin was me, by the way. Don't brew Polyjuice without permission._

"He can be so funny," laughed Hermione. "Oh no, look at the next one!"

It was another problem that featured a Professor Slughorn anecdote, but Harry didn't laugh, because he was very distracted by Hermione's reaction.

She sat on the couch, giggling to herself, her face turning red. She was trying not to laugh too loud, so she didn't disturb the others, so she scrunched her hands against her face, her eyes betraying her merriment. It was like she was so excited she couldn't contain herself.

And Harry was thinking that he wanted to excite her so much that she came undone in his arms.

He sat there, frozen in that thought for several moments.

 _I don't want that._

 _Yes, you do. You really, really do. And you_ know _we could think of a lot of interesting ways to make that happen._

His hands were gripped into fists against his knees, staring at her with longing and fear. For a few seconds, he was utterly paralyzed. She turned to him, and he forced his eyes away, but his heart still hammered. He couldn't take much more of this.

Her laughter quieted, and she was staring at him. "What's wrong?"

She reached for his shoulder, and Harry flinched away, standing up hurriedly.

"Excuse me. I need to go. I'll…uhh…see you later."

 _Whew!_ said Science. _Is it getting hot in here, or is it just me?_


	35. Ghost in the Machine

Chapter 34: Ghost in the Machine

 _Saturday, January 20th_

Hermione sat in the Beauxbatons dorm, petting Crookshanks. The cat was fully grown, yet spent half her time acting like a kitten, and the other half acting like a human. At the moment, she was sitting straight and regal on the canopy bed, surrounded by pale blue cushions, like a queen holding council with Hermione.

"I have all these questions," said Hermione. "But no one to ask them to, so I'll just ask you."

The cat blinked, flicking her tail as Hermione petted her head.

"First of all, I'm concerned about how we're handling the tournament," said Hermione. "The next task is only two weeks away, and we haven't had one Auror meeting to plan for it. I haven't even _seen_ Madam Bones since before Christmas." She sighed. "I got all my homework done early because I thought I'd have no time, and instead I've got nothing to do. Aside from duelling practice, I guess. And working on the Patronus, not that it's going anywhere."

The cat ducked her head, since she'd decided that now was a good time to clean herself.

Hermione's hands went back to her lap. "I wonder," she said softly. "If the problem is that I'm just not happy enough." Her lips twisted into a wry smile. "Maybe I should ask Cedric to give me a few pointers. _He's_ always so cheerful."

The cat paused her cleaning, glancing at Hermione.

"I know what you're thinking. No, it's not a requirement to cast the Patronus to be an Auror, but neither is being able to see, and the Ministry wouldn't hire most blind people. Besides, even if I do get in, the question will always be there, hanging over my head. Why can't the Girl-Who-Revived cast a Patronus?" She sighed, and started petting the cat again. "What do _you_ think is wrong, Crookshanks? I've already tried everything I can think of. I even researched blocked Chakras a while back, but that didn't help either."

The cat rubbed her head against Hermione's hand, then licked it, purring loudly. She smiled when the cat jumped into her lap, still with that rumbling purr.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to give up," Hermione said with a laugh, her voice breaking a little. "It's not like I thought it would be easy to change the world." She glanced out the window near her bed and murmured. "Though it would be nice to catch a break once in a while."

The cat settled in to let Hermione pet her, but eventually got bored and started nibbling her hand. It wasn't hard enough to hurt, but Hermione pushed her off her lap anyway. The cat wandered off to the window, leaped onto the ledge, and watched for birds.

Hermione was reading a book when Crookshanks started making chirping noises, ears pointed forwards in excitement. Then, she was silent. A few moments later, the cat made a long, low growl in her chest that ended with a hiss. This continued until Hermione came over to see what had gotten her so worked up.

There was nothing to see outside but the dark grounds of Hogwarts. No birds or animals, not even any students. Still, the cat kept growling, her ears pinned back on her head.

"What is it?" asked Hermione, in a whisper. "What do you see?"

With a normal cat, she would have shrugged it off, but Crookshanks was freakishly smart. Hermione had lost track of the number of times Crookshanks had found lost objects, opened locked doors, or just _known_ things a cat shouldn't know.

Hermione's mind ran through the possibilities. It could be some students, spelled with invisibility, sneaking into the Forbidden Forest. Even with the spiders gone, the forest was still dangerous, so people dared each other to go in there. Or maybe it was something worse. A werewolf. A dementor.

Hermione saw a pale shape pass directly in front of the window, and she shrieked and jumped back. The transparent ghost of Moaning Myrtle giggled. "Oh, scared you didn't I?" The ghost passed inside. "Sorry, didn't mean to. I've come for refreshments. I hear you have a lovely cappuccino machine in the common area."

Hermione steadied herself against her bed posts. "What were you doing here?" she gasped. As far as Hermione knew, the ghost had never left the 4th floor bathroom.

"My own business," Myrtle said, lifting her chin. "I don't ask you what you're doing all the time, do I? Now, if you'll excuse me."

Moaning Myrtle swanned her way into the common room, and Hermione could hear the shrieks of the Beauxbatons girls as the ghost politely asked to sample the coffee machine.

Hermione let out a heavy sigh and turned back to her room, deciding it was time for bed. But as she got ready, the cat still sat staring out the window, silently watching the dark night.

* * *

Harry spent the evening alone in his trunk, reading the many books he'd checked out from the Hogwarts and college libraries. He made notes as he read, scribbling into a notebook in invisible ink.

He knew now that this was at least a limerence. It could be something more, but he wasn't about to admit that until he had more evidence.

"Science" liked to point out his current condition as proof, but Harry rejected that. Feelings of desire, in his opinion, were not enough evidence. Romantic love was, after all, more a unique cocktail of chemicals in the brain rather than an indication of one's state of mind. If he was about to change his whole entire life, and risk a friendship that was extremely important to him, he needed to be absolutely certain it wasn't a mistake.

Harry only knew one way to determine that, and that was using research to sort out his feelings. Unfortunately, this strategy was constantly hindered by the fact that he had no idea what he was doing. The data collecting section of his brain had compartments for everything, except romance. And what little information he had gathered wasn't integrating into the data web the way it was supposed to, and instead existed as scattered fragments that contradicted each other. It was maddening.

He was starting to think that maybe…just maybe…he needed to search for resources outside his books.

Harry was scribbling in his notebook when he felt a shift in Hogwarts. Something had just entered the castle grounds, and it wasn't supposed to be there. Harry lifted his head, searching the wards for where it had come from, but the sense of wrongness was gone.

Harry felt cold all over, and he saw that his hands were trembling. He swallowed, remembering that it had been twelve hours since he'd eaten a full meal, and at least two days since he'd eaten something that wasn't from a package. He didn't think he'd just imagined that, but his perceptions were suspect. He would look into it more, after he'd had a decent meal and a good night's sleep.

* * *

 _Sunday, January 21st_

 _The next morning:_

"It's funny, there's so much we don't know yet about magical plants. Professor Sprout let me take the microscopes, and lately I've been using them to draw some pictures. There's some really interesting things that…Daphne?"

She sat beside him in the common room, her note-taking quill idle in her hand, her gaze far away. Neville felt his face reddening, realizing he'd started rambling again. They were supposed to be studying the medicinal uses of beetroot, so he could understand why her eyes would glaze over. But normally she was engaged during study sessions, even when he started geeking out over plants.

She flinched as he waved a hand in front of her face. "Earth to Daphne," said Neville. "Are you still with me?"

"Huh?" She rubbed her forehead, frowning. "Sorry. I can't stop thinking about what happened this morning."

"What's wrong?" asked Neville.

Daphne sighed, leaning forward in her chair. "Lavender got into a huge fight with Romilda. They were screaming at each other, and then Lavender called Romilda a 'whore.' Romilda just lost it and started pulling Lavender's hair, it was so awful." Daphne squeezed her clenched hands. "Lavender's been acting so moody lately, but I never thought it would get this bad."

"Wow," said Neville. "Yeah, that's weird. What's been going on with Lavender?"

"She's been holding seances in the dungeons and telling everyone that doom is coming for us all. She's basically a conspiracy theorist now." Daphne crossed her arms over her chest. "I keep trying to talk to her and see if I can convince her to stop, but she keeps pushing me to do her divination stuff, and it's really starting to scare me. I feel like," she bit her lip, tears springing to her eyes. "I'm worried I'm going to lose her."

Neville listened to her with concern, scooting a little closer to give her a hug if she needed one. "Lavender's still doing those seances? I thought McGonagall closed the area off."

"Yeah, well, she must have some way to sneak in. And Luna keeps going with her."

"Luna too?" Neville blinked, then shook his head. "Have you tried talking to a professor about this?"

"No, but maybe I should." Daphne wiped her eyes. "I know Lavender would listen to Trelawny, but…I think I'll go to McGonagall instead."

Neville nodded. "Good idea. I go to her for help too sometimes." He sighed, leaning back on the sofa. "Actually, I have a friend who's acting weird too. Did you see that letter that went around the breakfast table this morning?"

"I didn't get a chance to read it, but everyone who did was laughing."

Neville shook his head. "Basically, it said, _'If you had a problem of an intimate nature, which student would you go to for help? Asking for a friend. Please write the name below.'_ "

Daphne let out a laugh. "Who wrote that?"

"Harry, of course. If I asked him, I know he would tell me he was polling the masses for data, for one of his experiments." Neville sighed with exasperation. "He can be so dense, though. I mean, when you word your questions like that _, of course_ people are going to give you sarcastic responses."

"Hmm," said Daphne. "Well, have you tried talking to him?"

"I did try to catch him after breakfast, but he ran off, saying something about needing to read some stones."

"What does that—"

The floor rumbled, and that's when they heard the explosion.

* * *

The chill wind biting through his coat, Dean raised the Game Boy a little bit higher, straining against the rungs of the ladder. "Anything?"

After a moment of silence, Seamus said, "Not a flicker."

"Seriously?" Dean groaned, examining his Game Boy. "But last time it turned on for a whole three seconds."

Seamus huddled in his coat, his hood pulled tight around his ears. He'd never been a fan of the cold.

"That was before all the enchantments were placed on the lake for the Triwizard tournament," said Seamus. "I _told_ you this would happen."

Dean sighed. He knew Seamus was losing interest in this project, and Dean didn't blame him. They'd been working for months, and had nothing to show for it. Recently, Dean had taken to researching on his own, just to give Seamus and Padma a break from it.

But last night, he been thinking about antenna and the theory that organic life was the wellspring of magic, and he'd decided that he hadn't tried everything until he'd gone up.

So after breakfast, they set up a really simple, non-transfigured metal workman's ladder near the Hogwarts lake. Dean was currently standing on the ladder while Seamus double checked his data (basically, just watching the screen do nothing). In retrospect, it wasn't Dean's best idea, or even a good one, but sometimes dumb and crazy worked. It certainly had for the Weasleys.

"What are you boys doing?" asked Hermione with a soft laugh. She stepped up to the ladder, a smile on her face. She was bundled up in robin's egg blue coat, snow clinging to her curly hair

"Oh, _hi_ Hermione," said Seamus. "Is that a new coat? It looks lovely on you."

Dean snorted. They both knew she was way out of their league, but ever since Harry had said he wasn't interested, his friend had been shamelessly flirting. Dean couldn't help thinking how Seamus' height, combined with his accent, made it seem like he was one shamrock hat short of being a leprechaun.

Seamus grinned, thumbs in his pockets as Dean stepped down the ladder. "We're working on the project, since this poor lad you see beside me had another crazy experiment idea. He thought standing on this ladder would—"

"Well, it's finished now," cut in Dean gruffly, taking the final step off the ladder. "Anyway, it's not like all experiments can be winners."

Hermione smiled. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe the idea wasn't bad, but the method just needs tweaking."

"No, it was pretty lame," said Dean, shrugging. "I thought of it at around 2:00 this morning."

"So," drawled Seamus. "What are you doing here, Hermione?"

"Well," she said, shifting uncomfortably. "Last night I saw something strange outside my window. Maybe I'm being paranoid, but I thought I'd search the grounds to ease my mind. Have you boys seen anything out here this morning?"

"No, we haven't," said Dean. "But we'll come with you, right Seamus?"

"Absolutely," agreed Seamus. "Three sets of eyes are better than one!"

Leaving the ladder behind, they trekked around the lake, eyes peeled for any suspicious things. Hermione's wand glowed a bright pink, which she explained was a spell designed to trigger in response to magical contamination of the wards. "It's not a very hard spell to cast," she said. "The trick is that you have to know the exact spells that might be contaminated. Since I cast most of them, that's no problem."

As they walked along in silence, Dean tried to ignore the itching feeling in his right hand. His eyes kept lowering to glance at the Game Boy, just in case…but he quickly jerked them away.

"Who do you think will win the next round of the tournament?" asked Seamus, breaking the silence. "My money is on Angelica. Not only is she the bravest, she's been spending all her free time getting ready for deep water diving. I bet the other two come up for air after less than a minute."

Dean was pretty sure that no one except the champions were supposed to know the details of the tournament, but at this point, everyone knew everything there was to know. Most of his classmates were speculating what sort of special thing would be stolen from the tributes, from priceless heirlooms to actual people. Before Fred had left, he'd teased Angelica by saying he hoped she didn't find him _too_ charming.

They'd made it halfway around the lake when Dean, pressing the power button absentmindedly, thought he heard the chime of music.

"Woah!" he said, jerking the Game Boy closer and staring at it. The screen was blank.

"What happened?" asked Seamus.

Disgusted, Dean thrust the Game Boy into his friend's hands. "Just take it. I can't be trusted with this device anymore. I've officially gone off the deep end."

Seamus tucked it into his coat pocket. "Don't feel bad. Admitting you have a problem is the first step."

"Yes, but what's the next step?"

"I think it's admitting your friend is smarter and better with the lasses than you."

Dean snorted. "I'll take a bludger to the noggin before that happens."

"Won't do much for your looks, mate." Seamus said, laughing. "So, what do you think, Hermione? Which one of us is better looking?"

She raised a finger to her lips, considering them both carefully. "Hmm. In my opinion, you're both quite handsome. It's too bad I'm only attracted to old men."

Seamus blinked, caught off guard. "Is that so…err…maybe I can get a polyjuice potion…"

She shook her head. "It has to be real, or I'm not interested. Hearing problems, liver spots, complaining about kids these days, everything." Her lip twitched. "It's so cute how they walk around with a cane too."

Seamus's mouth fell open, and Dean busted out laughing. Hermione smiled at Seamus, almost apologetically, and turned back to inspecting the lake. "Anyway, Dean, I don't think there's anything wrong with being passionate about your project. I think it's exactly what you need to solve a very difficult problem."

Dean quirked a half smile, feeling nervous. "Thanks, but to be honest, I don't think it's going to happen. I'm not book smart like you and Harry."

"Well, intelligence is one thing," said Hermione. "But it's not nearly so important as hard work and patience." She smiled, warmth in her eyes. "I'm sure you'll find your answers eventually."

Dean felt himself blush, which was slightly embarrassing. He realized at that moment that the only other person who'd ever been so supportive was Padma, everyone else always focused on what he was doing wrong.

He was considering bouncing an idea off of Hermione, one that had been rattling around in his head for awhile now, but at that moment his friend's pocket started glowing red.

"Oh, it's found something again," said Seamus, pulling the Remembrall from his pocket.

"You're _still_ carrying that thing around?" said Dean. "You don't even know whose that is."

Seamus bent down to dig in the snow. "I dunno, but sometimes it helps me find cool stuff."

Harry's Patronus suddenly flashed in front of them, pale gold against the icy lake.

"Hermione?" His voice was tense. "Where are you? The wards—" something fell with a thud, and Harry groaned and cursed. "They told me there's a something beside the lake that's NOT supposed to be there."

As the Patronus spoke, Hermione's pink tipped wand flared, and started blazing red. The look of shock on her face showed that this wasn't supposed to happen.

"Please, be careful," warned the Patronus. "You're in—"

Suddenly, Dean found himself crushed in Hermione's arms as she sprinted them away from the area, just as the snow behind them exploded in an array of ice powder, enveloping the Patronus, followed by a giant _boom_ that reverberated through his spine.

After several breathless seconds, Hermione stopped, and Dean felt himself falling into the snow. Seamus cried out, dropping the Remembrall from his hand. It had cracked, blood clinging to the shards of glass. Hermione, breathing hard, scanned the area with her wand.

A few moments later, Headmistress McGonagall appeared in a puff of smoke. "Merlin's beard, what is going on here?"

* * *

"So, let me get this straight," said Filius Flitwick, with obvious disbelief. "Hermione thinks a ghost did this?"

"That's her theory," said Minerva, casting a series of protection spells around the lakeside. The three students had been sent inside to safety, leaving the two professors to investigate the situation.

"But that's impossible," said Filius, his eyebrows twitching with irritation. "Ghosts have no real agency, and they certainly can't perform magic of this magnitude. A wizard would have to pass a century before he could perform a spell that traps this much power into the environment."

"You're quite right." Minerva had expected Filius to be annoyed. He was the sort of person who needed evidence to believe anything. "But consider-Moaning Myrtle cannot be found."

"I'd hide too, if I was her. We don't need a ghost witch hunt. We need real answers." He shook his head, casting a spell to dispel more of the magical build up. "I'm starting to think it was a mistake to host this tournament. There's too much political tension, and apparently some wizards aren't above compromising young people's safety to promote their agendas."

Minerva frowned. It was disturbing, to say the least, that someone had known to enchant the exact spot where the foreign champions would be starting from. If the young wizards had been any closer to the blast, it would have destroyed them where they stood.

Observing the destruction in front of them, she said softly, "Do you think this is related to what happened on Christmas?"

Filius cast another protection charm and considered his answer. "If the blast were less powerful, I might believe it was just a prank. But this seems like the work of a dark wizard, so…I'm not sure. We need more information." His brow furrowed. "Where are the Aurors now?"

"Auror Crell is searching the castle grounds, along with Professor Lee. Tonks is inside with Hermione and Cedric, guarding the students in the Great Hall." Her heart sank at the thought that, once again, her students had to worry for their safety. She hoped this would be the last attack on school grounds, but she had a feeling it was only the beginning.

If only she could have _one_ normal school year. Was that too much to ask?

* * *

Harry raced downstairs, searching for the exit. Damn stupid that the warding stones had to be on the 5th floor, he didn't have time for this! His Patronus wouldn't respond to him for some reason, and Hermione's Auror mirror wasn't working, so he had no idea if—

He skidded to a halt as he saw her trudge inside, shaking snow off her coat. She was followed by Dean and Seamus, who was cradling his arm against his chest.

"Go to the Great Hall, please," said Hermione. "Tonks can heal your hand. I'll join you soon." She saw Harry on the stairs, took in a breath. "Harry."

Harry's heart was hammering hard. "You're not hurt?"

She shook her head, and Harry felt a weight lift off him.

Hermione started climbing the steps. "I have to go gather up the other students and get them to the Great Hall." Stopping beside him, she touched his shoulder. "Will you wait there for me?"

Harry couldn't even speak, so he just nodded.

She squeezed his shoulder, gave him a grateful smile. "Thank you."

Hermione ran on up the stairs, while Harry started walking down. A couple of seconds later, he wished he'd followed her.

* * *

Harold raised a shaking hand and knocked on the door.

"Enter," barked the voice inside.

Taking a deep breath, he opened the door to Madam Bones' office.

She sat behind a desk, beside a stack of papers almost as tall as her seated form. She was scribbling something on one parchment, and even as he entered, it flew from her hands into the chimney and disappeared.

"Report," she said, not bothering to look at him.

"Umm…" He'd been planning hedging on the truth a little bit, but in the moment, he decided to be completely honest. "We haven't made any progress. Two more watermarked entries came in last night, and we could not identify them."

She harrumphed, her quill blazing across the parchment, her glare sharp enough to cut glass. "This is the third week in a row you've come to me with nothing. I have all my spare resources working on this project, and I am even pulling from other understaffed departments. I know you are new to this position, but with all the help you're receiving, I am surprised you keep coming to me with empty hands."

"I'm sorry," Harold said, feeling the sweat chill under his robes. "The spell placed on the logs is very complicated. Every time we think we've cracked it, it morphs and we have to start all over. One piece of good news I have is that there have been no more attempted terror attacks."

"Yet," she finished for him, finally raising her eyes. "It will happen, eventually, mark my words. And if my Aurors aren't in position to take the terrorists away in chains, and instead we have a massacre that ends up on the news, then you will have to live with the knowledge of that failure, as will I. Keep that in mind as you try to crack that code. Don't come back to me with nothing next week."

"Yes, ma'am," he said, bowing. He was hoping and praying he was dismissed, but she hadn't waved him off yet. Instead, she was staring at a random spot in the room, her frown deepening. "Bloody hell," she whispered. "It never ends, does it?" She stood and threw some floo powder into the fireplace. As it glowed green, she said, "Hogwarts."

He closed the door as she disappeared into the fireplace.


	36. Electricity

Chapter 35: Electricity

Hermione spun her time turner, using up the last 90 minutes. It was now 3:35 pm. Her stomach growled as she raced up the steps. She had finished the last of her assigned work for the day, and she could have just gone to dinner, but the Bayesian Conspiracy was meeting. She really wanted to see Harry.

Over the past few days, he had turned into an elusive creature that only appeared for a few seconds at a time before vanishing. She couldn't even catch him at meal times. And, on top of that, her schedule was about to become insane, now that Madam Bones was bearing down on the Aurors. At Thursday's third meeting of the day, she'd chewed out Auror Lee for taking so much time off before the lake attack. "If this had happened 200 years ago, you'd have been drawn and quartered for your negligence, then _I_ would have fed your remains to the pigs."

Hermione's feelings were mixed on the issue. Madam Bones was a hard task master, but at least now some actual work was getting done. The school needed protection, even if it did wipe out all her free time. So, in one of her last free hours for the foreseeable future, she thought it would be nice to see her best friend.

She opened the doors for the Bayesian Conspiracy, and found Harry and Dean locked in an intense argument.

"Harry, I've thought a lot about this." Sweating, Dean banged a fist on the table. "I know this is the right way to go, so I'm just asking for a little help."

"I've also considered the experiment you mentioned." Harry, hands in his pockets, seemed perfectly calm. "And I'm telling you, it's a waste of time. If you're looking for the source of the electrical interference, you might as well consider the moving staircases, or the various enchanted magical items in every room, or the large population of wizards in one area."

Harry glanced over at Hermione standing in the doorway. He blinked and quickly looked away.

Dean countered, "But it makes just as much sense to consider all the portraits lining the hallways. And all my experiments show that they seem to be causing EMF spikes more than any other object in Hogwarts, including the wizards."

"You're talking about the EMF detector you bought for ten pounds at the store?" Harry shook his head. "Those things are notoriously unreliable. Listen, there's an observed phenomenon in psychology called confirmation bias, which makes you likely to cherry pick information from experiments to support your theories. So, while you might not have done it on purpose, you probably set your EMF detector a little closer to the portraits, or jiggled it more in your hands in excitement. This, by the way, is why it's imperative to perform double blind studies."

Hermione frowned. Usually, Harry wasn't so dismissive when his group had an idea he disliked. He didn't like to hamper their creativity. What was different this time?

"Harry," Padma countered patiently. "I'm not sure Dean is on the right track either, but this is worth considering. I've performed my own tests as well using a few volunteers, and the portraits do show spikes in EMF readings. Dean can't do anything more to test with the equipment he has. Why won't you help him with this?"

"Because you haven't given me a sufficient reason yet, my time is valuable, and honestly? The hypothesis behind your deductions doesn't sit well with me. The theory behind _why_ ghosts cause EMF spikes is that they are alive, an imprint of the spirit turned into magic. This is a pernicious lie that I don't need to provide further fuel for, regardless of what little information we might glean from studying them."

 _Well, that explains it,_ thought Hermione. Anything to do with the afterlife always made Harry a little pig-headed.

Dean went red. "But I'm not trying to do that!"

"You are, even if you don't realize it. Your natural inclination is to veer towards your predilections, and everyone wants to believe in life after death." He folded his arms. "But trust me, I did the research. The Hogwarts portraits are no more alive than a moving picture. If you can give me some evidence that there is a soul or partial spirit within them that is animating these objects, anything more than a rudimentary parlour trick, then I'll gladly help you. Otherwise, you'll need to ask someone else."

Harry spoke without raising his voice at all, in a firm, emotionless tone that tended to irritate people. Dean was glaring at him in frustration, when suddenly Hermione realized something.

"Harry," she said. "Think of it like this. Humans use a tremendous amount of energy, and one of the greatest energy consumers is their brain. Conscious thought requires a lot of effort."

"Right," said Harry, looking at her warily.

"Well," she said. "It may be less than human, but the portrait is still mimicking human thoughts and activity. But it doesn't eat, and it doesn't even have a body to transmit electrical impulses. Where is the energy coming from?"

"Exactly!" Dean pounded a fist on the desk, turning to Harry. "That's what I've been trying to tell you! It might not have a soul, but that's not the point. It's a human consciousness that's sustained entirely by magic. Imagine what we could learn from studying it!"

Harry's gaze turned inward then, as he examined all the information. Finally, he sighed. "Very well, then." He glanced at Hermione before turning to Dean. "I'm not certain you're correct, but I'll see if I can help you. However, I don't know if we'll be able to perform the experiments here."

"You mean in the lab?" asked Dean.

"No," he said. "I mean in Hogwarts."

* * *

On the 3rd floor there was a rarely frequented corridor that was full of portraits. The portraits were created recently enough that they spoke recognizable English, but far enough back that they were mostly forgotten, and it was for this reason Dean started his search here.

"Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen," he said, "But are any of you interested in an adventure?"

"Me!" declared a knight, his horse rearing up. "I'll do it!"

Several others also expressed interest, more than Dean expected.

"But I must warn you," said Dean. "It is quite dangerous. We will have to leave the safety of this corridor."

"We don't care," said another portrait, a lady in blue. "I haven't seen anything besides 14 year olds snogging each other for centuries. It's indecent, and if I'd known this would be my eternity, I would have demanded a different corridor. No one listens to portraits, though."

"Well, if you're sure," said Dean. "Then let me take your names."

* * *

Minerva was reading a correspondence at her desk when someone knocked on her door.

"Come in," she said.

Dean Thomas entered the room.

"Headmistress, I'd like permission for myself and a group of friends to leave Hogwarts for the weekend."

Dean handed in the appropriate paperwork, and Minerva looked it over. Most students asked for permission when they wanted to see their families or attend a special event. On Dean's permission slip, it said the destination was, 'University of Oxford.'"

"What will you be doing?" asked Minerva, reaching into her desk for the official stamp.

"We're performing an experiment on enchanted objects with a professor who works there. Speaking of which, I have a requisition form for borrowing magical objects, and the names of several portraits who have agreed to participate in the experiment."

Dean handed these to Minerva, and she glanced down at the long, long list of names. "Dean, I can honestly say no one has asked to borrow a painting before." She wasn't even sure it was legal, though according to ancient statutes, the portraits of Hogwarts weren't actually property, as ghosts or magical imprints couldn't be owned. The frames they were encased in, however, were another matter.

"I wouldn't ask," said Dean. "Except that we really need these for the experiments. We will be very careful to return them intact."

It wasn't necessary, but it was polite, to inform the Ministry of any magical objects being removed from Hogwarts by students. Minerva tried to think of a way this could backfire, anything that could get her in hot water with the Ministry, but then decided that with everything going on right now, she didn't think they'd care about a missing portrait from a forgotten corridor in Hogwarts.

She stamped the document, and passed it into her file folder, which automatically created a copy. "You have permission to take 3 portraits, after I have taken them out of the frames and applied the appropriate protection charms. You will return them within seven days."

"Thank you," said Dean, taking the copied file.

"Who will be coming with you?" asked Minerva. She assumed Harry, at least, but his list of companions had been left blank.

"Well," said Dean. "That's something I wanted to discuss with you."

* * *

"I have to say, I'm impressed," said Harry the next morning. "I didn't think you'd be able to pull everything together this quickly."

Dean shrugged artfully. "What can I say, I get things done." The two of them stood in the Great Hall, waiting for the others. It was still dark outside, the dawn at least an hour away. Dean scuffed the ground with his trainer. "To be honest, I was worried if I waited more than a week, it would never happen."

Harry nodded in understanding. There had been times, when he'd had an idea, where he just had to test it right away. "My dad said he'll be here by 6:30 am to pick us up."

"Great," said Dean. "I spent all last night planning for this. I've got a few ideas for things I'd like to try first."

Harry wasn't going to admit it, but he had _also_ spent a good deal of last night planning. It had occurred to him that this experiment could shed some light on his own research goals. If they really _could_ detect a unique form of energy within the portraits, then it could lead him closer to discovering the force that powered the source of magic.

But besides that, he couldn't show his father a half-baked plan, that would be embarrassing.

"Did you convince Padma to come?" asked Harry.

"Yeah, she's coming," said Dean. "Seamus isn't feeling well, so he's staying at Hogwarts. I also invited a couple more people."

Harry's heart leapt with an unexpected thud. _Hermione? Probably, I mean, who else would have a stake in this experiment? Why am I acting so surprised, of course she would come, she wouldn't miss out on—Woah woah, wait, will we be sleeping at my place together? I haven't cleaned my room in ages, and—hang on, how am I supposed to do science when I'm thinking about Science?!_

The door to the Great Hall opened, and Harry turned slowly.

Luna stepped in, wearing a polka dot lab coat. "Good morning, boys," she said in her lilting, dreamy voice. "Ready to do some science experiments?"

"Always," said Dean, beaming. "You're looking festive this morning!"

She shrugged, adjusting her massive goggles. "I thought I would get into the spirit of things."

Seconds later, Padma entered the room, carrying a bag of luggage behind her.

"Padma!" said Dean, waving her over. "Glad you could make it. Where's Hermione?"

"Not coming," said Padma, re-shouldering her bag. "Madam Bones didn't clear her to leave."

"Oh," said Dean. "That…kinda sucks. I was hoping she'd join us."

Harry, in that moment, couldn't decide if he was relieved or disappointed. On the one hand, he was clearly in better control of his mental facilities when she wasn't around. On the other, he'd spent half the night lying awake and thinking of her, almost giddy at the thought of doing another experiment together.

After walking a short distance off the grounds, past the apparition wards, Harry's father arrived with the car, glaring at everyone as he loaded their bags. By unspoken agreement, Harry got the front seat next to his dad, while everyone else crowded into the back, silent as church mice. "Don't be alarmed," explained Harry. "He's not angry, that's just his morning glower. Here Dad, drink some coffee." His dad scowled, drained the mug, and got onto the highway.

They went straight to the university, then climbed to the third floor of an old, brown building. Morning sunlight streamed in as they entered a barren lab room, with empty cabinets and a few small items on the table.

"This is your workspace for the weekend," said his father, setting down his messenger bag. "I couldn't take the newer and more expensive items from the physics and electrical department, since you said your portraits cause electronics to fritz out. We'll use these until we know what we're dealing with."

Harry examined the available items. They would suffice for now, but he was hoping he could convince his dad to bring in more later. His dad watched the group, his arms folded. "So, what is your plan for today?"

Harry turned to Dean, who was holding the three, rolled up paintings. Dean cleared his throat, "Well, Mr. Verres, as you know, I've been doing some tests to figure out why electrical appliances don't work well around magic. My EMF detector registered high electrical readings from the paintings at Hogwarts, but it's hard to test them without better equipment and a more stable environment. So, today I would like to examine these paintings to figure out everything we can about the type of energy being emitted."

Dean, reaching into his pocket, and almost dropping the portraits, pulled out a paper and handed it to Harry's dad. Mr. Verres read the paper and nodded. "Ambitious goals, but very well. Go ahead."

Once they'd done all the preliminary reading checks and calibrated their instruments, they got started.

Harry unfurled the first painting, which broke the sleep charm on the portrait. They'd placed it on to make sure they didn't wake up in the car and cause an engine malfunction. The painting of an old wizard holding a blue globe yawned, and then said, "Unusual choice of décor. Why would you paint everything white and grey? It is quite boring."

"It's not supposed to be interesting," said Harry. "It need only be functional."

"Quite," said the wizard, nodding. "Well, let's get started with this experiment, as you call it."

Harry turned to his classmates, and noticed his dad giving the painting an odd look. "Is he talking to you?"

"Yes," said Harry. "You couldn't hear it?"

Harry's dad shook his head. "I see a stationary portrait of a wizard holding a blue globe." He paused for a moment. "That beard is quite impressive, though."

The wizard nodded with satisfaction, stroking his beard. "Took me seven years to grow it out this long, and twelve charms to keep it well groomed. Most people don't notice, so tell him I appreciate that, even if he is just a Muggle."

They used a wooden easel to set up the portrait in the middle of the room, with several meters of empty space around it. They started testing with the EMF detector once more, marking the points where it started picking up an energy source.

"It's not as strong as in Hogwarts," said Dean, whose reader was almost touching the portrait. "I didn't used to have to get this close to find a signal."

"Too close, in my opinion," said the portrait, and the reader blazed into the red zone.

"Do that again," said Dean.

"What?" said the portrait, and the detector blazed into the orange.

With excitement, Dean turned around and conferred with Padma, who was recording his readings. "Any ideas how we can get it to make a constant stream of energy?"

"Well." Padma glanced over at the painting. "Old men love to tell stories."

The painting glared at her. "I am not old! I'm only eighty-nine."

Harry shook his head. Their test subject was already getting ornery, and they'd only been working for five minutes. Harry was about to suggest rolling him back up again when Luna stepped forward, taking off her goggles.

"Young men like to sing songs," she said, smiling. "Is there one that you like, Mr. Wizard?"

"Please, call me Igneous," said the Wizard. "And yes, I do have one."

"Wonderful," said Harry, who was standing by the table. "If you could, would you please sing it at a slow and consistent volume and pace?"

The portrait stroked his beard, sniffed, and then began singing a tune in French. Once Dean completed his testing with his EMF reader, they switched out to an old analogue detector. After ten minutes of testing with a few different instruments, Harry and his father graphed the results.

"The field of energy extends out into a torus shape," said Harry. "It looks a lot like a magnetic field, but I doubt that's what it is."

"Probably not, but does it react to a compass?" asked Padma.

"Let's see," said Harry, grabbing one from his pouch, then pausing. "Dad, do you have a compass, by chance?"

Harry took the two compasses and tested each one. The one that his father gave him did not react. Neither did the one from his pouch.

"Well, there goes that theory," said Harry. "Or rather, it makes it a lot less likely."

"Perhaps," said his father, folding his arms. "But you had the right idea just now with the compass."

The lightbulb went off in Harry's head when he realized, but it was Padma who answered. "If this portrait is messing with the laws of physics, then we need to figure out how. We have to start from the bottom and work our way up."

* * *

It took them an hour to gather up all the materials, and another hour to make sure everything was set up properly. Now Dean was standing in front of the painting, which lay on the table, and covering it with compasses. A few more compasses were placed beside the painting, close to the edge. This was test number 2, as their first test had been with a regular painting, to check the equipment.

Padma was checking measurements, making notes in their experiment logbook, while Harry observed.

"They're all pointing in the same direction, due north," said Padma.

"Looks like it," said Harry. "Okay, let's try the next part."

They turned to Luna, who approached the portrait. "Could you move around a little, like this?" said Luna, doing a simple dance step.

The portrait imitated her, grumpily. At this point, Luna was the only one he listened to. The compasses didn't react to movement, or to speech and singing. Harry asked the portrait if he could leave the painting for another test, and the wizard shook his head. "If I did that outside of Hogwarts, I might not be able to return."

Dean started setting up the next experiment, which was to determine how the painting was affecting electric fields. This time they used electroscopes to measure electric charges around the painting, to see if they were being quenched around the pictures and to what degree. Again, all test readings came back normal, after testing all the same conditions as before.

While they took a break for lunch, which Harry's mother had packed for them, Luna chatted with the painting, asking him questions about his life. Harry's father stood beside the painting, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

"Based on the length of Luna's pauses, the painting seems quite loquacious," said Harry's father, turning to Dean and Padma. "What is he talking about?"

"He's talking about his time working in Normandy during the goblin wars," answered Dean. "There was a riot and he stopped it with a very impressive wind spell he says made everyone's hair stick up for days."

"Fascinating," said Mr. Verres. "Have you tested the painting for consciousness?"

"This particular one?" responded Padma. "Not specifically, but they don't act like humans in a box. They have limitations. Over time, they lose their ability to form new memories, and eventually most fade into a normal painting. Even when newly made, they don't grow or change, and they show little inclination to create or learn anything new."

Mr. Verres looked thoughtful. "Still, they can hold real time conversations with people, close enough to mimic a real human. This is quite exceptional, farther than AI has progressed in the non-magical world. It would be worth looking into to see what level of sentience these paintings can achieve."

Dean frowned. "But wouldn't that make them unhappy? They'll realize they're trapped."

"If magic can create a sentient non-biological life form," observed Mr. Verres. "Perhaps it can also create a body for them."

They wrapped up lunch and got back to their third experiment, testing an electrical current. They had a simple circuit with a battery powering a light bulb, with one extra long wire connected to a voltmeter and ammeter. They brought the wire into contact with the painting, and checked to see if there was any change in the EMF readings. Then, Dean slowly moved the light bulb over, then just the power cell, and finally the entire thing and set it on the painting. They tried it with all conditions again, until the painting complained he was growing hoarse.

"No changes," said Padma. "Looks like there's no electrical circuit disruptions, either."

"Okay, then there's one more test," said Harry. "We're going to look and see if it's affecting energy on a quantum level."

They set up to test the effect on energy when running through a circuit with transistors and diodes, which Harry explained operated on the principles of electrons acting like particles and waves. "If the magical field is disrupting it here, then it could explain why your Game Boy isn't working, but a simple wristwatch like mine can function normally."

When this test came back normal, Harry's father suggested an audio test. "We have a noise cancelling machine that we can program to send in inverted audio signals, and then mix both sounds to check for changes."

"Good idea," said Harry. "Where's the equipment?"

They left the room to go get it, and Dean sighed. "I'm so out of my league. I have absolutely no idea what we're doing."

Padma smiled. "Don't feel too bad. Physics is complicated, and you've only just started studying it. Harry has been devouring it since he was in grade school."

"Do you understand what this experiment is testing for?" asked Dean.

Padma mused quietly for a moment, twirling her pen in her fingers. "Audio signals contain a broad spectrum of complexity, and are useful for analysis of what's happening on a quantum level. I imagine we're going to generate two audio signals, one being the inverse of the other. If we combine them, then they should create no sound. That's how good audio equipment reduces noise interference, by using the inverted sound to cancel it out. It's a small way we can easily see quantum mechanics at work.

"So, if we place the wire carrying one sound near the painting, then we keep the other wire far away. If the painting is causing interference at the quantum level, it could change the sound passing through the wire near the painting. Even if it's affected only slightly, the change will make noise we can hear in a speaker."

"Can we test different types of audio signals?" asked Dean.

"Yes, I'm sure we will be testing quite a few. We might detect an anomaly on one frequency that we can't detect on another. If we do get something, it will give us a clue as to what we should research next."

And then, of course, Dean would be even more lost, like a swimmer on his first lap while the rest were rounding their tenth. Dean sighed, trying to remind himself this wasn't a race.

Harry and his father brought back the equipment, the excitement plain on both of their faces. "Alright, who's ready to rock and roll?" said Harry, throwing up the heavy metal hand gesture.

They set up the sound equipment, testing different signals on the painting. The wizard got bored and looked like he was about to doze off. They were on their ninth test, and they turned on the speaker and listened to the signal. It let off a soft tone.

Harry stood very still. "Did you hear that? Try it again, we need to re-test it."

They retested it, and it made the noise again. Everyone crowded around, Padma scribbling so hard her paper ripped. They retested that same frequency with the portrait moving and making noise. The speaker repeated the same sound.

Dean saw the wonder on everyone's faces, and knew it was reflected on his own.

He didn't know what they had discovered, but it might be something really, really big.

"Don't get too excited yet," said Harry's father, who looked like he wasn't following his own advice. "Let's test another painting, just to be sure."

Dean opened the painting of a yellow-robed witch fanning herself with a white down fan. She huffed a sigh. "Well, that took a while. I've been ready for hours now."

The magnets, still several meters away from the portrait, swirled around. They decided that north had shifted position to her.

Everyone stared at the magnets, the excitement draining into puzzlement. The painting frowned. "Was it something I said?"

* * *

Author's Note: I hope you enjoyed the chapter! My beta reader is no longer able to read my stories, so currently looking for one. Basically you'd just read the chapters before I post them and give me feedback. Message me if you're interested. :)


	37. Working in Groups

Chapter 36: Working in Groups

Harry stood in front of the painting of the woman, who frowned at him uncertainly.

"I have to ask," said Harry. "Did someone paint you with an iron-based paint? I would say lead, but that's hardly magnetic."

The painting shook her head, the fan moving more quickly in agitation. "I am not formed of such vulgar components. I am magic and light."

"Uh huh," said Harry. "By chance, did someone lace anything into your backing? Like magnetic strips?"

The painting flushed, glaring at his father. "Excuse me, Muggle! Your boy is asking such lewd questions about my lacing!"

Luna stepped forwards, putting a gentle hand on the portrait's shoulder. It should have looked weird, but Luna made it seem natural. "Don't worry. He doesn't know what he's talking about. However, we are puzzled as to why you're making these compasses act strangely." She held one in her hand, offering it for a closer inspection. The portrait peered closely, squinting as if she needed glasses.

"Dear me, what _are_ these little round bugs?"

Rolling his eyes, Harry decided that was enough of that. He pestered his dad, and won a gaussmeter. He measured the magnetic field of the portrait, and it registered at about 200 gauss, or a bit stronger than your average bar magnet.

"Hmm," Harry rubbed his chin. "Just for fun, let's check the last painting."

"I was just saying that," said Dean. "Padma, do you think..."

While Dean was speaking, Harry grabbed the third painting from the table.

"Dean, Padma, get the testing supplies ready," said Harry, unrolling it. "Luna, come here, in case it starts mouthing off again."

They gave him weird looks, but did as Harry asked.

The painting showed a small girl with roses plaited through her hair, sitting with her feet dangling in an idyllic stream. The girl jumped away and stared wide eyed as the compasses started covering her trees.

The painting had no effect on the magnets or the compass, but just as they were setting up the next experiment, the lights in the room shut off.

In the dim light, Harry stared at the three paintings, arms folded. With all the portraits randomly breaking the laws of physics, it made sense that electrons just gave up trying to move in any sort of ordered fashion.

"Alright…umm…" said Harry. "I think I know what we can do. We can get an x-ray—"

"No," said his dad. "No vacuum chambers either."

"Dad, just think about—"

"No." His father shook his head. "It's time to go, son. Your mom's already got dinner in the oven."

"But-" Harry protested, then noticed for the first time the slant of the sunlight coming through the window, afternoon shifting to the red glow of evening. In the fading light, his classmates looked drained. They hadn't had a break since lunchtime.

"Fine," said Harry, turning away. "Let's go."

* * *

They packed up the supplies and set off for his home. Everyone was silent the entire way, except Luna, who was intently practicing a snapping game with her fingers. Harry kept thinking, trying to figure out if there was something he missed that might explain what happened. Perhaps the paintings were created using different methods, which could cause their effects to differ? Or maybe there was a physical component in the paintings—invisible to the naked eye—that had an unusual effect on the environment?

Harry sighed, drumming his fingers against his knee, his head starting to pound. Then again, it was entirely possible that magic was so chaotic that it could change form for absolutely no reason at all, and it would take them decades to scratch the surface as to why.

They pulled into his driveway, unpacking and bringing everything inside. Harry stopped, staring at his living room. He was sure he hadn't seen those curtains, or that rug before, and where was the coffee table's pile of books? His mother popped into the room, beaming at them. She pulled off her green apron and wrapped Harry in a hug. "Hello, dear. Make any great discoveries?"

"We discovered that magic is unpredictable and needlessly complex," said Harry, shrugging. "But that's nothing new."

She ushered everyone into the immaculate dining room, and they sat down at the table. Something in the kitchen smelled really good, reminding Harry he was hungry. His mother brought dishes to the table. "Hermione couldn't make it?" she asked.

"No," said Dean. "She had Auror duties."

"Oh, that's too bad. I was hoping to show her some old dresses of mine that might fit her."

Harry didn't say anything, but he knew his mother had been secretly trying to adopt Hermione for a few years now. If Harry actually did date her, and bring her over for holidays, his mother would be over the moon about it.

Harry froze for a second. The thought was giving him goosebumps, and they lingered as he took his seat.

"Everything's ready," his mother said with a merry flourish of her hand. She uncovered the lid for the meatloaf, already sliced and steaming, and took her place at the head of the table. "Everyone, please sit!"

Harry wasn't sure at first if his mom was trying to cheer them up, or if she actually was that excited about dinner. At any rate, she kept talking animatedly throughout the entire meal, mostly with Dean, who Harry noticed had way too much charm for his own good.

"Mrs. Verres, this gravy is amazing," Dean said. "It must be homemade, it tastes just like my mom's. May I have another slice of meatloaf?"

She practically glowed. "Why, _of course_ , Dean! I made plenty for everyone. And if you want anything else after dinner, don't hesitate to ask. There's chocolate pie in the fridge for dessert."

His eyes went wide. "Chocolate? Don't even get me started, I'd live off it if I could. My favourite recipe is a volcano cake, and one of my biggest regrets is that I _still_ can't make like my grandmother did."

"You like to cook? I practically have to pay Harry to walk into the kitchen." Harry glared at them, but was ignored. "Got any favourite recipes?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said, cutting his meat with his fork. "I've made a little of everything, though baking is my preference. I thought I'd be a chef like my mom, before I got my Hogwarts letter."

They went on chatting, with Padma chiming in about cooking Indian meals with her family. This left the rest of the table ample time to brood. Or, well, that's what Harry was doing anyway.

It wasn't even his project, but he was tangled up in it now, and it fell on him to solve the puzzle. He knew if he thought about it long enough, a potential solution would come to him. He stared at the paintings, lying in the corner. The question was, how deep down the rabbit hole did he have to go before he noticed a pattern?

After dinner, as they ate slices of chocolate pie, Padma said to Harry's father. "I noticed you have a lot of science books in your library. We're looking for information about physics, specifically electromagnetism."

She nudged Dean, who quickly wiped his mouth. "Oh, yes, I'd been meaning to ask. Mr. Verres, do you have any suggestions on titles we should read?"

Harry's father beckoned them into library, where they pulled several books off the shelf, his father pointing out the highlights of each. "Steven Hawking has a nice little compendium of physics called the History of Time. It's entertaining to read, too, but if you're looking for something more intensive..."

Padma stood near them, listening in and choosing some books she liked. Even Luna was flipping through a biology textbook. Harry observed his classmates, a strange feeling in his chest.

 _You know, what they're doing is considerably more productive than your brooding._

 _Quite._ Harry smiled ruefully and picked up his own book. _As the saying goes, if you can't beat them, join them and pretend it was your idea all along._

* * *

At some hour of the early morning, Harry's internal clock woke him.

 _Question. Why didn't we call her last night?_

 _Wuh?_ Harry's consciousness blinked away sleep. _Who?_

 _You know. Hermione. She said she wanted to know how our experiment went._

 _Okay, umm…first of all, she doesn't have access to a phone, and secondly—_

 _Patronus works just as well._

 _SECOND of all, the Ministry won't let us cast magic outside Hogwarts, and THIRD of all, we're only going to be gone for two days. She's not expecting minute to minute updates._

Harry heard an internal sigh that sounded slightly patronizing. _I still think you missed an opportunity to experiment with long distance communication. For one thing, it could be a viable alternative to face to face conversations, which are becoming increasingly difficult for you. Not to mention, it's getting painful for_ ME _to keep watching you flounder like a dying fish whenever she looks in your general direction._

Harry tossed and turned, attempting to ignore the voice of Science.

 _Besides, isn't your motto Always be Prepared? How dare you sleep, you ought to be strategizing how you can best support Hermione during this busy time, so when she's free she'll be BEGGING to spend quality time with you. Think about it: a Slytherin quest, a locked room, maybe some treasure at the end if you know what I mean, heh heh._

Harry sighed. _You're disgusting, and I really don't care about these quests anymore._

 _Well, if you don't, then she won't, and that's the problem._

 _What_?

Silence. Harry waited, but no response. He stilled, hoping that maybe if he closed his eyes…

 _I'M HENRY THE EIGHTH I AM, HENRY THE EIGHTH I-_

 _Nevermind, I'm getting up._

Harry flipped the covers off and stood from his bed. He carefully walked around Dean, who slept on the floor of his trunk. He opened the hatch that led upwards into his old bedroom, now converted into book storage. He picked his way through the book stacks and went downstairs.

Harry meant to go to the kitchen, gather a late night snack and seek refuge in a book, when he heard someone crying.

"It'll be okay," said Luna's soft voice, and Harry walked into the living room to see Luna kneeling before the unfurled painting of the little forest girl. The girl sobbed, her trembling voice pleading for something in what sounded like garbled ancient Latin. The flowers in her hair had come unbraided, and were falling into the stream before her.

"What's wrong?" asked Harry, standing awkwardly over them before kneeling beside Luna. "Why is she crying?"

"She wants to go home," said Luna, eyes still trained on the girl.

"To Hogwarts?" asked Harry.

Luna shook her head. "She doesn't know where she is, or why she's here. I think she doesn't know she's in a painting."

Harry watched the girl rambling in a language no one had spoken in centuries. "How do you know what she's saying?"

Luna shrugged. "I don't know. I'm not particularly good at languages, and I don't have much experience comforting friends. I've always been interested in art, though, so maybe I'm just…good with pictures."

For a moment, Harry felt somewhat guilty. Had the experiment upset her? She'd been so quiet, he hadn't even considered her feelings…but even so, she was a _painting_ …

Harry went to turn on a lamp to see better, but nothing happened. He noticed the refrigerator was strangely silent too. Harry went to check the circuit breaker, and found the main power switch had been tripped. Something had overloaded it.

"Umm, Luna," he said quietly. "I hate to rush you, but…"

Luna said a few soft words to the girl, and then quietly rolled up the painting. Harry flipped the circuit breaker, and a lamp came on in the living room.

Harry couldn't say anything. He silently took a seat on the sofa, book unopened in his lap. He wondered if the little girl was still sobbing after being rolled up, or if she got some relief in sleep. He'd never once seen a painting that wasn't perfectly content with their lot in life and that…raised a lot of questions.

Luna joined him, a sketchbook in hand. She flipped it open to a new page and started drawing.

"I hope we can learn more about the paintings, so we can help them," she said.

"I…" Harry stopped. There was a lot to say about the probability of success, but now didn't seem to be the time. "I hope so too," he said. "Thanks for coming with us, Luna. You really helped us out earlier."

"Oh, it's no trouble. I'm glad I came," she said, smiling. "It's like spending time with friends."

Harry didn't really know what to say to that, so he just opened his book and started reading.

* * *

The next morning, Harry stood before the group as they gathered in their lab in Oxford.

"It's time for us to make a plan," said Harry.

"I have an idea," said Dean. "Well, me and Padma."

Harry paused a moment, then nodded. "Go ahead."

He saw the relief on Dean's face, which surprised Harry. _He was scared to tell me? I really need to get better at this teamwork thing._

"Well, last night we were reading about quantum particles," said Dean. "And the books said they have a few weird properties that people still don't understand. We thought about searching for proof of the observer affect—that quantum particles behave differently when observed—but then we realized how difficult that would be to test for. Not to mention that it makes a lot more sense to think of magic as the 5th force that unites all the rest, rather than an extension of the other four forces."

"5th force?" repeated Harry slowly, wondering what crackpot physics books his father had given him to read. It was pseudoscience at best, but then again, that was before witches could transform into cats.

"Then," said Dean. "I realized something. We're experimenting on an object that doesn't fit into any prior investigations of Muggle science. We've been analysing it based on what we know about electromagnetism, but I think we should consider this phenomenon under an entirely separate set of rules. It's a complete mystery."

Padma nodded. "We need to focus on information gathering, rather than trying to prove anything."

Harry had a flashback to his first days studying magic, and he grimaced. He'd done a lot of head-banging-against-the-wall in those days, even thinking of it made his head hurt.

"So, it's not a _bad_ idea," said Harry. "But we could experiment on these paintings in a thousand different ways, and some of those experiments are not _quite_ so productive. What is it you want to focus on?"

Dean sighed. "Honestly, I want to know more about how these paintings—or magical objects in general- effect electronics. Best case scenario, we find some evidence that we can block it. I've already tried making a Faraday cage, though, and that didn't work."

"Well, then let's see why not," suggested Harry.

* * *

Padma's array of magical items, though small, was an accurate representation of common objects in Hogwarts. A magic wand, an enchanted quill, a moving picture of family members, and a sneakoscope. Harry's own pouch had been emptied of most of its bizarre items since Moody, but he did still carry a few basic enchanted objects.

They brought them close to the Game Boy, observing what happened. Dean had to get very, very close to see even a flicker on the screen. This was true for everything, even the sneakoscope when it was activated (To activate it, Harry had secretly put salt in his father's coffee. This earned an Unholy Glare of Death from his father when he tried to drink it later, to which Harry had stammered out, "It had to be done, for science!").

They tested the Game Boy against each painting, and found its performance varied. When all three paintings were placed _side by side_ , however, the Game Boy would not turn on. In fact, after several minutes, even the lights in the hallway flickered. His dad's stern glare prompted him to quickly roll up the paintings.

Now that they'd established a minimum zone of interference for one painting (within six centimeters), and had found enough building materials from the theatre department, they got to work testing to see if anything could block it.

In short, nothing did. It didn't seem to matter if the painting was encased in wood or tin foil. Bring it within a few inches, and the Game Boy would shut down.

"You know what I wish?" said Padma, wiping sweat off her forehead and leaning against a wood pile. "I wish that we could transfigure a metal box, and compare it to a non-transfigured one. That would tell us something useful."

Harry stood quietly for a moment. Then, he readied his wand. "Dean, place the Game Boy on the table, will you?"

"Err…" Dean glanced at Padma. "It was just an idea. I don't think it's worth getting in trouble with the Ministry."

"Come on, think about it. We're not transfiguring anything, that would take way too long, but there _is_ a way to test if this idea is worth pursuing." Harry's fingers tapped the table. It was so simple, why hadn't he considered it before? "We already know that the Game Boy is affected by the presence of the paintings, but we haven't checked it against different types of spells. A short burst of first year spells should tell us if it's _casting magic_ , and not the paintings, that's causing the disturbance." He surveyed their concerned faces. "Come on, they're not going to expel me for this, and I'm fairly certain that if questioned we can come up with plausible excuses for needing to use simple charms."

Dean frowned, but kept the Game Boy clutched in his hands. Harry sighed. It wasn't that he liked breaking the rules, but he saw no problem with bending them if the need arose. Besides, he knew about the warning letters to underage magic users. It was basically a slap on the wrist, and he was willing to take it if he'd learn something important about how magic worked.

Harry tried again to persuade him, attempting to be calm and reasonable (he was going to at least _try_ to work on his teamwork skills), when Luna reached over and grabbed the Game Boy from Dean.

"Sorry," said Luna, passing it to Harry. "But Harry's going to do this eventually, and you're all taking too long to get to the point of things."

Dean looked distressed, but he didn't try to stop her. _Diffusion of responsibility,_ noted Harry. If someone else was willing to go the deed, then an observer was more accepting of the crime occurring. Which was a bit of a stretch, it was a misdemeanour at best.

Still, if he was being honest with himself, part of his lack of restraint was bitterness that McGonagall hadn't allowed him to take his OWLs in his second year. If he had, then he would be considered an adult according to Wizarding law, and they wouldn't be having this discussion.

 _Ahh, so you're actually admitting that you're acting under the reactance theory,_ said his brain.

 _Shut up,_ said Harry.

 _And cognitive dissonance,_ his brain added.

Ignoring himself, Harry flicked his wand once. " _Lumos._ "

The wand's tip glowed, and the Gameboy didn't react. Harry tried another wand flick, _"Aguamenti."_

A small jet of water shot from his wand, and the Game Boy continued running merrily. That surprised him a little, he'd felt sure that pulling quadrillions of joules of energy from nothing, or arguably from "thin air," would force some sort of reaction. Harry persisted, trying a few more spells of increasing complexity before the Howler fluttered in through an air duct.

"HARRY POTTER YOU HAVE BEEN CHARGED WITH A MISDEMEANOR USE OF MAGIC WITHIN A MUGGLE ESTABLISHMENT!" The Howler roared, gnashing its paper teeth. "YOU ARE FINED 10,000 GALLEONS! PLEASE DELIVER THE SUM IN FULL TO GRINGOTTS BANK WITHIN 10 DAYS! HAVE A GREAT AFTERNOON!"

"What the—" Harry's jaw dropped as the Howler ripped itself to shreds. "Why the hell am I being fined? And 10,000 galleons, that's like 500,000 pounds! That's 100,000 pounds per spell! Under what model of economics—" Harry sputtered. "It can't possibly be the average fee for using underaged magic, or magical families would be homeless!"

"Obviously, it's a day fine," said Padma, sounding bored. "Adjusted to your level of income, or potentially your level of prestige. By the way, just how rich are you, Harry?"

"You're lucky you weren't expelled," said Luna. "Papa says the Ministry is being quite harsh with underage offenders these days."

"You could have told me this, Luna," he said through gritted teeth.

"It's your own fault, you know," she replied airily. "You're trying to measure magical energy with Muggle devices, when it would be much simpler to use a magical one."

"Well…that's…" Harry paused, considering. "You know a device that can detect magical energy?"

"No," she said. "Do you?"

"Of course not, or I would be using it!" Harry grit his teeth, counting to ten in his mind. He didn't have _time_ for this. If he had ten days until his fine was due, then he had nine days to plot his way out of it. He wasn't paying them one knut, or his name wasn't Harry James Potter Evans Verres.

* * *

Dean tried to make the best use of the rest of the day, but it was tough. Harry was sullen, and alternately not invested in the experiments, or way too invested and pushy.

It was irritating, but Dean could sympathize. He would be a mess if he'd just lost a fortune for no reason, too. Although, Dean _had_ warned him, and while Dean understood Harry's motivation, he was starting to notice an alarming pattern. Harry was really good at rationalizing why the rules didn't apply to himself, if he thought the ends justified it.

After dinner, they packed their things into the car, and Harry's father drove them back to Hogwarts. They were a few miles out when Dean remembered something Luna had said.

"Padma," said Dean, turning to her. "Do you remember the Remembrall that Seamus was carrying around? It used to light up when he found interesting things, but I wonder if it was actually detecting their magic."

"That's unlikely," said Padma. "Or it would be going off all the time while passing a Hogwarts painting."

"Well, that's true," Dean rubbed his knees, thinking, "But later, it reacted to that bomb by the lake. It started glowing and heating up right before the explosion."

Harry, who hadn't spoken since they'd started driving, turned from the front seat. "Do you still have the Remembrall?"

"The explosion cracked it," said Dean.

"Yes, but do you still have it in your possession? I have a potion that I can use on it, to figure out how it's different from a normal Remembrall."

Dean felt a pang of regret. "Seamus said he was going to throw it away. It's probably gone by now."

Harry nodded, and turned back in his seat, his eyes on the road. A few minutes later, Dean was watching the passing waves of streetlights when Harry said, "I think I can remake it."

"Remake what?" asked Dean.

"The Remembrall," said Harry. "Ideally, with one that hasn't been owned yet. It would require tuning it to read energy signatures rather than memories. I would also need to invert the working of the database, to react to the presence rather than the absence of something. It shouldn't be impossible, though." He sighed. "Although I will be rather occupied this week. If you'd like to work on it in my absence, you may have free access to my work notes and my library."

"You're sure?" asked Dean. Harry tended to be a bit possessive of his things.

Harry shrugged. "I'd rather this get done quickly. Besides, I know you'll take this project seriously. Let me know if you need help."

"Thanks, Harry," said Dean. "I'll do my best."

Harry nodded, and went back to staring out the front window.

* * *

Late that night, Hermione stood at the counter in the Hogwarts kitchen, armed with an array of ingredients.

There was just one right way to make a banana split. It involved at least two bananas, a pint of mint chocolate chip and peanut butter, and she didn't care that the house elves were giving her concerned looks. She busied herself with squirting the caramel syrup on the top, crumbling on the graham cracker, and finishing it off with a generous portion of whip cream. She stared at the perfection of her creation for a moment, and told herself it wasn't piggy to eat it all herself if she just ate a salad tomorrow.

It wasn't until she was halfway finished with it and the four visitors dropped in, that she started to regret her decision.

Harry was staring at her, but Dean was grinning. "Save any for us?"

She solemnly wiped her mouth, vanished the chocolate syrup stains on her robes. "Hi…uhh…everyone. How was your trip?"

"It was good. We got a lot done, but the results were mixed." Dean said more things she tried to pay attention to, but part of her was still trying to do Damage Control on her stained outfit. "…But that lead to us almost blowing the lights out, and then Harry got a Howler from the Ministry."

"Wait, what?" said Hermione, turning to Harry. "What did you do?"

"It's not important, and I'm taking care of it," muttered Harry, who was hunkering by the doorway. Dean glanced at the house elves, who were warming up dinner for the new guests. "By the way, we saw Cedric outside guarding the lake. He said all the Aurors and trainees have 24 hour guard duty."

Hermione nodded, setting down her bowl. "I just got off my rotation an hour ago. Madam Bones isn't taking any chances with this competition. We had a fire last time, we don't need a flood with this one."

The house elves started plating the food, roast ham and mashed potatoes, which distracted everyone until Luna spoke up.

"Did they ever find Moaning Myrtle? I've been worried about her."

"Not yet," said Hermione. "The Aurors are saying it might have just been her…time to move on, I guess." She shrugged, knowing this wasn't much comfort. "Supposedly it can happen without warning."

Luna frowned, seeming almost heartbroken. "It would have been nice if she'd said goodbye."

"It's funny," said Padma, in a quiet voice. "I didn't speak to her much, but she's been a part of our lives for so long. It's like losing family."

"I agree," said Dean. "Sometimes I would go visit her and have a chat. She seemed to appreciate the company, and she gave surprisingly good advice. I wish I'd spent more time with her."

They took their plates and started eating, standing around the counter.

"In other good news," said Dean. "We have a great idea for the direction for our research." He had cleared his plate already, and the house elves were happily refilling it. "Harry said we can try to modify a Remembrall to detect magical energy, instead of forgotten memories. Harry said he's willing to let us look over his notes so we can work on it."

" _Our_ notes, actually," said Hermione, giving him a look that was meant to tease him, but he wasn't meeting her eyes. "I worked with that project too."

"Really?" said Dean, eyes lighting up. "Do you want to help us?"

Hermione shrugged. "Sure." She glanced up, thinking she heard Harry mumble something, but he still wasn't looking at her. "Just, umm, as long as you're okay with me leaving halfway through an experiment to take care of some Auror emergency."

Dean's grin was infectious. "Not a problem." He held up his cup of milk. "To our partnership."

Hermione chuckled and clinked cups with him.

She had a feeling this was going to be fun.

* * *

The travellers arrived at Hogwarts that evening. She watched them walk up to the gate, slinging their bags over their shoulders and stepping inside. She saw them stop near the lake, talking to Cedric Diggory, who was on guard duty.

The Priestess leaned against the beast's scaly back, feeling the night wind rippling through her hair. Normally, she could have done this from the privacy of her room, but the wards of Hogwarts were not so easily broken. She could observe from afar, but she could not enter, or the castle alarms would light up like a Christmas tree.

The travellers went inside, but the boy took a second look around the lake, his eyes scanning the distance before the cold won out over caution.

Her lips thinned, trying to figure out the purpose of this boy. What force was it that wove their lives into prophecy, and destined them to be heroes or villains? A baby boy who could destroy Voldemort, using the power of his mother's love? And what about the girl, who rose from the dead to slay the monster again?

There was a lie in that story somewhere, more than one if she was correct in her thinking. For one thing, you could never really be sure who was the real monster.

But there were a lot of things she didn't know, and still more she couldn't do. It was incredibly frustrating, not to mention demeaning. Like a genie in a bottle, she supposed. She stared down at the earth, white and blinding from the full moon in the snow.

There was no place for her to rest, not here or anywhere, but perhaps that was just as well. The barrier would keep her pure until one day.

One day.

The beast dipped in a gust of wind, and she balanced precariously on his back. She hadn't even placed a charm to lock herself in place, maybe because she wondered what would happen if she fell.

She sighed, gripping tighter against his massive neck, thick as a tree trunk. As it was, her life right now was like a delicate seesaw. Each day it tipped in ways she couldn't control, until eventually she'd be forced into action, probably in a way she didn't like. But if she could keep it in balance for a little longer, she'd have time to prepare for its inevitable end.

In the meanwhile, she would let things play out as they would, and hope she found the key to this growing puzzle that would someday consume the entire world. She glanced further along the clear horizon and patted the beast's neck, "Time to go."


	38. The Second Task

Chapter 37-38: The Second Task

Harry was sitting in the library, his arms wrapped around Hermione Granger as they kissed by the fireplace. His fingers were entwined in the chestnut curls of her hair, and she sighed as she broke away.

"You know," said Hermione. "This is really fun."

He mumbled a reply, and they went back to kissing for a few moments. He was busy memorizing the feel of her lips when she murmured, "Harry?"

"Hmm?"

"Wouldn't it be nice if we could do this in real life?"

"Yes—wait." He pulled back. She'd deliberately broken his dream state suspension of disbelief, and there was only one part of himself that would pull this trick. "Science, what are you doing?"

Hermione—aka Science—leaned back on the sofa, smiling innocently. "You know it's been me all along, right?"

Harry scowled. Of course, he was aware of the fact that his dreams weren't real, and were merely projections created by mirror neurons in his mind of a possible reality. But it was a bit unnerving to think that he was literally just kissing himself.

"Like I said, I'm here to help. While it's been fun, I do believe we're experiencing a hollow feeling in the mornings when we realize our dreams are never real."

Harry folded his arms. "That hollow feeling is a growing depression at how utterly ridiculous my dreams have become."

"Ridiculous?" She snorted. "Come on, even you aren't that emotionally dense. For example, isn't it driving you crazy that instead of you, there's another boy with whom she's currently performing experiments? One who's also handsome and an incorrigible flirt?"

"No, doesn't bother me. At all."

"Who knows, maybe they'll even go to the _library_ together—woah, it just got cold in here."

Harry took a deep breath, and the fire reignited in the fireplace.

"Listen, regardless of my emotional state, romantic inclinations are _not_ my primary concern. I'm supposed to be fantasizing about solutions to my actual science related problems, like that 50,000 pound debt we incurred. But for some reason, _this_ is how my hormones have dictated we spend our time."

Science snorted. "Fine, you can believe that for now, but if I'm asking the question, then so are you. You're dying to be closer to her, and you're just going to keep suffering," she walked her fingers up his chest. "Until. you. are."

She pressed a finger against his nose, then tweaked it.

"Now." Science-Hermione snuggled closer. "Want to go back to what we were doing?"

He rolled his eyes. "No, I want to wake up."

Science nodded, raised her hand and snapped her fingers.

* * *

"Neville, how's the experiment coming along?" asked Harry, from his perch on a transfigured wooden chair. They were in the greenhouse, where it was always a little too warm for comfort, but Neville would take that any day over a drafty castle.

Neville sighed, lowering his drawing pencil once again. "I told you, Harry, it's not an experiment."

"Well, I see a microscope on the desk, and a plant under a glass slide. You've got several more slides waiting to be examined. It certainly _looks_ like an experiment from where I'm sitting."

"I'm just drawing pictures," said Neville, returning to his sketches. "The plant cells look interesting up close. Besides, someone has to use the microscopes, since our herbology class isn't."

Harry gazed at the box of unused microscopes, a wounded look on his face. "I _do_ wish someone would take the time to use those for their intended purpose. I didn't buy them to sit in a corner. Do you think maybe your next project could be magical plant cellular analysis? I'm not much of a biologist, or else I'd tackle that myself."

Neville shook his head. "Harry, if you really want to see an experiment, then Dean and Hermione are performing one as we speak, right next door."

"I can't go on in there," said Harry, frowning and returning to his book.

"Why?"

"Reasons."

Neville had his suspicions as to why, but it's not like he could confirm them because Harry would rather sit on a pincushion than talk about his feelings for Hermione. Instead, he did strange things like pester people to sign apology papers, or transform into a human ghost for weeks at a time. It didn't bother Neville much except for now, since Harry had decided to haunt his greenhouse for hours on end.

"Well, Harry, what is it _you're_ working on?"

"A personal project."

"What about?"

Harry turned a page. "A problem I'm trying to solve."

Neville peered at the book cover. "Tax law? Why do you need—"

Harry closed the book, hid it under his sleeve. "Good grief, Neville. What part of personal don't you understand?"

Neville rapped his pencil so hard it almost snapped. _Just forget it, it's not worth arguing over and you'd never win against Harry anyway. Maybe if I just ignore him he'll leave, or at least stop talking…_

"Neville?"

He sighed loudly. "What?"

"Am I annoying you?"

Neville blinked, looking up. Harry's face was sincere, as if he honestly didn't know. "Well, yeah, kinda. I get that you miss Hermione, but you're treating me like her substitute. It's irritating."

"Oh. I'm sorry," said Harry, sounding truly surprised. "But I really didn't come here to use you as a substitute, that wasn't my intention."

"Then, well, why are you here?"

Harry scratched his chin. "It's difficult to explain." He thought for a few seconds. "So…have you ever felt really hungry and went to the kitchen to get some snacks? Then there wasn't anything you wanted, so you got something to drink instead and you were fine afterwards? And you realized you were just thirsty all along?"

"Err…maybe?"

"Well, it's like that."

They were silent for a few moments, until Harry suddenly backpedalled. "Okay, I know that sounds wrong, I'm not like _thirsty_ for you or anything, I'm still actually into girls, I just thought I could spend some time with one of my best friends and maybe that would be better than locking myself in my room having repeated delusional fantasies for weeks and weeks, and I usually actually do enjoy my time with you more than the majority of humanity, so—"

"Wait." Harry stopped, and Neville stared at him. "You think of me as one of your best friends?"

"Yeah," said Harry. "I mean, of course I do."

Neville was taken aback. He'd been under the impression that Harry hung out with Neville when he was bored, or lonely, or needed a lab rat. He never thought…well…that he was special.

"Thanks, Harry." Neville rubbed the back of his head. "I guess you can stay, if you want."

"Thanks," said Harry, who went back to his seat. "I'm sorry for interrupting your drawing time."

"Nah, it's okay," said Neville, picking up his pencil again. "I don't mind if you want to chat. What's going on with you and Hermione?"

Harry shrugged, sifting through his book. "Nothing. I'm suffering from a limerence and working up the courage to deal with it like a rational human being."

Neville nodded. "Same. Girls are scary."

"So, umm…" Harry raised his eyebrows, his gaze barely lifting from the page he was reading. "Do you have a girl you're interested in, Neville?"

"Maybe," he replied. "I might tell you, if you tell me why you're researching tax law."

Harry let out a soft chuckle. "Let's get back to work."

* * *

Hermione blew into her fingers, stamping her feet to put some warmth into them. She suspected her heating charms were out of date. She pulled her wand from her pocket, pointing it at herself. " _Thermos."_

There. A little bit better. She made a mental note to learn a stronger warming charm. She would need it if she was going to have to keep guard at night on the regular.

It was the beginning of February, and snow still fell every few days to frost the landscape. She gazed at the Hogwarts lake, no longer covered in ice, but still plenty cold. In the morning, the champions would be diving into that ice bath. Hermione thought that mid-May would be a better time for this challenge. Incidentally, this was when the third task was scheduled for, but perhaps there was a by-law in the Tri-Wizard Tournament rules that said it had to make the contestants as miserable as possible.

She heard the crunching of snow behind her, and turned to see Dean approaching with a steaming mug in each hand. "Want some company?" he asked. "I've brought sustenance."

"It's way past curfew," she said, smiling as he handed over a mug.

"I like to live dangerously," he replied. "But McGonagall actually caught me on the way out here, and she just warned me not to stay out too long."

Hermione took a sip of the hot cocoa, relishing the warmth against her fingers. Dean slipped his left hand in his pocket, seeming content in the cold.

"I wanted to say thanks for your help earlier," said Dean. "Even if you did have to leave early to do Auror stuff."

"Thanks, though I feel like I barely did anything except distract you," said Hermione, waving her hand dismissively. "But at least we conclusively determined that Queen songs were the only good thing to come out of the 70s."

"Umm, you mean one of the _best_ things out of a _great_ decade." He started listing on his fingers. "Let's see, you've got Alien, the Exorcist, Jaws, Rocky, Star Trek the Motion Picture—"

"Flash Gordon, all the Airport movies—"

"You're just proving my point," he said, grinning. "Can't forget disco either, and bell bottoms. Man, I would have killed it on the dance floor, had all the ladies up on me."

Hermione laughed at his disco dancing impression, even though she still felt a little embarrassed. They'd had so much fun earlier, but she'd mostly just sung karaoke and goofed off. Hermione had tried to help him, really, but all they could seem to pay attention to was each other.

"So," said Dean. "We talked about all my favourite things, but what movies do you like?"

Hermione blinked, a bit taken aback. "Well," she said slowly. "I'll admit I'm not as well versed in contemporary media as you are, but I do have a favourite movie." At Dean's urging, she went on. "It's called the Princess Bride."

"Ahh, that's a classic." Dean grinned, and said in a Spanish accent. "Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die."

Hermione beamed. She'd been waiting her _whole life_ for this. "Inconceivable!" she cried, in a squeaky falsetto.

"I don't think that means what you think it means," continued Dean.

"No more rhymes now, I mean it!"

"Does anybody want a peanut?"

Hermione bit her lip. She _really_ wanted to do the "As you wish" scene, but it was kind of a romantic exchange and things weren't like that between her and Dean. Not to mention, she wasn't entirely sure what was going on between him and Padma. She showed up in the lab just before Hermione left, and the Ravenclaw didn't seem too happy to see Dean alone with another girl.

Flustered, Hermione felt herself blushing, while Dean chuckled, amused by her embarrassment.

"So anyway," said Hermione, changing the subject. "After I left, did you make any progress on the Remembrall?"

"A little," replied Dean. "Padma and I found a way to rework the _Identificus_ spell so that it can attach to the Remembrall, but we still don't know how to get it to sense magical energy. In fact, right now, we've messed with it so much that it senses nothing. It just keeps saying 'unknown.'"

"It's a fickle spell," admitted Hermione. "It's very particular about which commands will pull from the data subset. But hopefully that will work to our advantage once we discover how to get it to sense magical energy. We might be less likely to get false positives."

"That's what Padma told me, but…other than that she hasn't told me much about what she's doing with the Remembrall." Dean shrugged, as if to play it off. "She's not normally so quiet and distant, but she has her reasons, I guess."

Hermione was silent for a moment. "Is Harry helping you?"

"I haven't seen him in three days," said Dean. "And if he sticks to his pattern, then I don't expect to until next week."

"Now that you mention it," said Hermione. "He's been really distant from me lately, too."

While it wasn't uncommon for him to hole himself away while working on a project, this felt different, like she was being ignored. She frowned into her mug, hoping she hadn't pushed him away somehow. She was fine with them being just friends, but not _distant_ friends. Once things slowed down with her Auror duties, she would make it a priority to figure out what was going on.

Dean took a sip of his cocoa, and then turned to Hermione. "Well, since our friends are both MIA, would you like to attend the tournament with me? Oh, wait," he frowned. "You've got to monitor the game, don't you?"

Hermione _did_ have to monitor, but she'd already planned a work around. She gave Dean a reassuring smile. "I'm going to be posted on the Hogwarts stands. If you'd like, you're welcome to sit by me."

"Great!" said Dean, beaming. "Are you excited to watch it?"

"Of course," said Hermione. "This is the fruit of all my hard labour. Plus, I'm curious to see how the Ministry is going to botch it up."

* * *

Angelina stepped up to the starting platform beside her competitors. She had arrived by boat to the tower-like stands erected in the middle of the lake. The voices of her classmates from Hogwarts cheered above her. To her left, Marguerite stood on her platform, giving a princess wave to her classmates. Boris Krum's faction was the loudest of all, thumping rhythmically on the tower floors until a professor's voice shouted for them to stop before they toppled it over.

Angelina shivered in her swimsuit, rubbing her arms and gazing down into the water. She had sent out a Patronus to her older sister this morning, and received confirmation that Kayla was safe at work. As of thirty minutes ago, her mother and father were still sleeping soundly in their beds.

Even so, Angelina couldn't relax. Fighting dragons was one thing, but knowing your family could be kidnapped and held hostage underwater made this game a whole lot scarier.

McGonagall's voice bellowed from above. "Attention everyone! It is now time to begin the 2nd task of the Tri-wizard tournament!"

Angelina stared at the Gillyweed in her hand, raised it to her lips, and swallowed it. She recast the warming charm, and mentally went over the speed charm in her head.

"In this task," continued McGonagall. "Everyone will be looking for a special treasure that is hidden in the lake. You must capture this treasure within one hour. If no one catches it, then the one who got closest will be declared the winner."

Angelina saw something zip past her in the water, and her breath caught at the familiar flash of gold. Her heart racing, she cast the speed spell on herself.

The gong went off, and without hesitation, she dove into the water to catch the Snitch.

* * *

"And they're off!" cried Lee Jordan, who was doing the commentary. "Angelina has already made great time using Gillyweed and the speed charm, and boy does she look stunning in that swimsuit!"

"JORDAN!"

"Sorry, Professor McGonagall! Anyway, Boris isn't far behind with his shark head charm, if only his monitor charm would stop glitching. But…what is Marguerite still doing on the dock?"

* * *

Marguerite stood on the platform, arms folded, glaring at the water.

It was official, this contest was _rigged_. Besides the fact that Quidditch included flying balls of death, she knew absolutely nothing about that game. On the other hand, _both_ of her competitors were skilled Quidditch players who knew all about Snitches and how to catch them.

Marguerite had already tried _Accio Snitch_ , but of course, that didn't work. The thing was, the tournament clue had specifically said she would be searching for a _treasure_ , so that's what she'd been planning for the last two months. She'd researched finding spells for different kinds of expensive or precious objects, and even carried a lock of her brother's hair in case she had to cast the search spell for him.

She was _not_ prepared to race after a waterborne Snitch, in freezing cold water full of predators, against two competitors who were both far more athletically gifted than she was. The Veela were related to mermaids, but that didn't mean she could sprout fins whenever she wanted.

Someone from the Hogwarts stands jeered, "Hey Princess! Scared to get your hair wet?"

Marguerite glared at the offensive speaker, and if she'd been less well bred, she might have made another gesture. Instead, she turned her attention to making a plan.

After about a minute of staring at the water, she realized by the glint of the Snitch that it was moving in a pattern. A few moments later, excitement bloomed within her as a plan began to form. She looked up at the Beauxbatons students above her and shouted, "Excusez-moi, j'ai besoin d'une plume et de papier!"

* * *

Hermione leaned forwards, shading her eyes against the sun. "What in the world is she _doing_?"

Dean took a bite of his popcorn, eyes trained on the screen above him, "I don't know, but a mermaid just threw a trident at Angelina."

"Ouch. Is she okay?"

"Not a scratch." Dean smiled. "She's not our best Chaser for nothing."

Lee Jordan picked up his commentary, "Well, it looks like Angelina is recovering in safety, so let's turn our attention back to Marguerite, who looks like she's sketching some sort of shape with that quill. It looks like a…figure eight? I hope she's not just drawing pictures."

Hermione watched Marguerite scan the water before sketching again, her quill moving swiftly to make another circle. Hermione gasped, "Oh! She's noticed a pattern! She knows how the Snitch is moving!"

"Why does it matter?" asked Dean.

"Because that means she can trap it," explained Hermione. "All she would need is to choose a location close enough that she can cast a strong trap spell. Look, she must have found it, she's standing up and readying her wand." Hermione leaned forwards against the railing, excitement spilling out into her words. "It's tricky, though. The trap will capture just about everything, like a fish or debris, so she needs to cast it right before the Snitch passes. And if the Snitch evades the trap, it could change course and she'll have to do her calculations all over again."

"It won't work," said Dean, as Marguerite cast the trap spell.

"Why not?" asked Hermione.

"You can't use magic on Snitches," said Dean. "Everyone knows that."

A few seconds later, there was a loud boom as the Snitch smashed through the trap and almost sent Hermione toppling over the railing into the Hogwarts lake.

* * *

Angelina Johnson heard the boom from her perch on the underwater rock. She saw the Snitch zooming away from it, and she could guess what had happened.

Breathing heavily through her gills, Angelina didn't bother trying to catch the Snitch that flew over her head. She'd been racing after it for ten minutes, but even with a speed spell she wasn't fast enough. It would be _nice_ if she could rig up a basic trap for the Snitch and lie in wait for it, but she knew from experience it would burst right through them. She had no choice but to give chase. She'd already taken one Pepper-Up potion, but she'd have to take another if she wanted a shot at beating Shark Boy.

Angelina hadn't seen Boris for a few minutes, but it was clear they were almost tied physically speaking. She was faster, but he had a lot more stamina. If she hadn't been slowed down by the mermaids, she might have overtaken him.

Angelina leaned back against the rock and watched the fish swimming above her. Most of them were moving in the direction the Snitch had gone. It reminded her of that strange Quidditch game where she'd seen a hawk catch the Snitch in mid air and try to swallow it.

She sat up, realizing she'd discovered something very important. If the fish were chasing after the Snitch, then one of them might _catch_ it. Then she could capture the fish, take out the Snitch, and win the game. She would barely have to move a muscle.

Angelina searched the area for a medium sized fish that closely followed the Snitch. She swam alongside and cast a speed spell, a tracker spell, and dumped her pepper up potion over its slimy head. The fish zoomed off in the direction of the Snitch, and Angelina kept her wand trained on him using her tracker.

Angelina smirked. If she could win like this, she might just carry it over into Quidditch games. Get the birds to do her work for her.

Angelina felt a pull in the water as something big swam near her. She turned, wand still trained on her fish, but she didn't see anything. A hand jerked hard on her foot, and she saw the pale green face of a Grindylow snarling at her, with more swimming up behind him. She turned to fire a curse into the pack, hoping it would chase some away and give her time to escape.

However, before she could attack, they disengaged, swimming away at high speed. Angelina turned to see blood blooming in the water's depths, along with high pitched screams.

Angelina grit her teeth, pointed her wand at herself and cried, _"Ascendio!"_

Jetting out of the water, she shot to the safety of the surface, panting and kicking. Did the mermaids attack Boris? But it didn't _sound_ like him screaming…

Whatever it was, she needed out of the water, _now_.

* * *

A few minutes after her embarrassing failure, and after Marguerite had torched the paper into tiny bits of ash, she smoothed her frazzled curls and got back to the task at hand.

Marguerite crouched down on the platform, observing the fish speeding along after the Snitch. One of them, she noticed, was shooting along much faster than the others. It didn't take her long to figure out why.

She clicked her tongue. Well, well, well. Two could play at that game.

Soon, Marguerite had picked out her fish, casting a speed spell. Fortunately, she could be a little more generous in applying the speed spell on a fish than she could on her own body. Marguerite just needed to hold contact for long enough to overtake the other fish.

Marguerite watched as her fish turned in the direction of the dock, following the golden speck. But as they came closer, Marguerite realized they were heading straight for _her_.

Frowning, Marguerite watched the growing speck like a hawk. She knew people caught Snitches in mid-air all the time. Maybe she should just dive in and catch it herself? Then, she wouldn't have to cut open a fish to get that stupid ball, if a fish could even swallow it in the first place.

Her feet toed the end of the dock, and she could hear Lee Jordan commenting loudly, "Ahh, is our landlocked princess finally going to get her feet wet? I think at this point, there's more money riding on that than the winner of the tournament. But wait…it seems the Snitch is kicking up some waves, and heading right for Beauxbatons' stands. Looks like it will be a real soaker!"

It was at that moment that Marguerite realized that a large wave that was trailing after the Snitch, growing taller by the second. She paled, watching it barrelling towards her. She remembered how close she'd come to flying off the dock when her trap burst, and if the screams coming from above her were any indication, this would be a lot worse. Anchoring herself to the dock, she abandoned her plan to catch the Snitch and settled on just surviving.

"Holy cow!" cried Lee Jordan. "It's higher than—"

McGonagall cut in. "Anchor yourselves, children! _Arresto momentum!_ "

Marguerite held her breath as the giant wave smacked into her like hitting a wall. She felt the force of the wave sucking her back and trying to hammer its way into her lungs, but her anchoring spell held. As she stood there, shaking, several fish flopping on the dock, the first thing that popped into her mind was that she should be freezing, but she wasn't. The water was lukewarm.

* * *

Angelina used a spell to speed herself back to the Hogwarts stands. There was no reason to remain in open water anymore, not with all the Grindylows, mermaids, and now giant _waves_ trying to kill her. She hadn't seen Boris for about thirty minutes, and she really hoped he hadn't been caught by the stab-happy mermaids. Still, she didn't have much time to worry about it. As soon as she was on land, Angelina located a random fish and the race was on.

Unfortunately, Marguerite's fish was moving about as fast as hers, and neither of them were close to catching up with the Snitch. Angelina wished she had another Pepper Up potion to dose her fish with. She also wished she had thought to bring an antidote to the Gillyweed, as it was not fun trying to breathe air with gills.

Suddenly, a gong sounded, and the Golden Snitch they'd been chasing disappeared.

After several shocked seconds, Angelina asked, "Did we…all just lose?"

"No, that doesn't make sense," said Marguerite. "I was timing it. We had at least ten more minutes."

"Ahem!" said McGonagall in a booming voice. "I apologize for the delay, but it appears there has been an issue with the scoring…excuse me a moment."

The voice faded away, and Angelina could hear the chattering of students begin above her. A few moments later, Boris Krum jetted out of the lake, hovering in the air at the apex of his ascension spell.

"The winner," he said with a grin, while holding the Snitch in the air. "Is Boris Krum!"

* * *

 _One hour earlier:_

Aurors Potts and Milton spun their time turners and arrived at the start of the tournament, just as Headmistress McGonagall was making her announcements. Attempting to be as unobtrusive as possible, they cast tracking spells on each contestant. They also applied a monitor charm, though they both suspected it would fail with the Durmstrang student, just as the original one cast on him had.

Fortunately, while visual proof would be nice, they didn't need that to confirm what they were looking for. Their tracking spells were designed to measure heart rate, location, heat signatures, and physical state, and that would tell them everything they needed to know to confirm their suspicions.

As Auror Potts finished the last spell, he let his left hand dip into his pocket, while the right held his wand. He pulled out a pipe, lit it by the glow of his wand, and took a long puff.

Milton scanned the lake, as each contestant prepared to dive in. "If our suspicions turn out to be correct, then this will be the news of the decade, maybe the century. Not to mention, Madam Bones is going to pop a gasket."

Potts shrugged, took another puff of the cigar, and breathed it out slowly.

Milton frowned. "Well, what do you think?"

Potts shrugged, "Does it even matter? If we're right, we'll be obliviated of the last hour anyway."

* * *

As the students left the stands and the contestants were whisked off to the after party, the tournament judges retired to Minerva's office. It was there, when the three of them were alone in the most secure room in Hogwarts, that Minerva braced herself against the front of her desk, hands shaking. "Igor. Did you know about this?"

"No," Igor Karkaroff folded his arms, his tone a wall of defense. "I certainly did _not_ know. But we cannot replace him as a candidate now, it goes against the solemn ruling of the Goblet of Fire."

"I know that," snapped Minerva. "But Boris also violated the law by not disclosing his condition. He deliberately deceived his superiors as well as the judges, not to mention putting everyone in contact with him in danger. There must be consequences."

"I still don't understand," said Madame Olympe slowly. "I thought the Maledictus only passed their blood curse from mother to daughter."

"Usually, that is true," said Igor. "But his clan is a special case. Both males and females inherit the curse, and they consider fully "turning" as coming to maturity. In addition, his tribe is so well hidden that only a handful of people outside the community know they exist. And that is exactly why we cannot punish him."

Igor turned, faced the unlit fireplace. "If we reveal his identity, then by law I must expel him from Durmstrang. He might even be sent to prison. Once the Factions get wind of it, they will raise hell over it. They would claim their people are being targeted, and use him as a rallying point for their cause."

Minerva rubbed her temples, staving off a headache. She'd hoped that the Factionists—the terrorist group currently plaguing their country—would have died out by now. But their numbers seemed to be growing as the squibs, the magically cursed, the poor and disgruntled all banded together against the Ministry. As if they hadn't had _enough_ of class wars from Grindelwald and Voldemort already, as if wizards had no other avenue to disagree except through violence.

"Even if I agreed with you, Igor, I can't let him stay at Hogwarts," said Minerva. "The risk is too great. He's a monst-" She cut herself off, both because she shouldn't say that about a student, and because Igor was glaring at her. "It's worse than we originally thought. Our reports show he's taking on cognitive aspects of his animal form, like aggression and possessiveness. Not only did his transformation underwater cause a tidal wave, he just chewed up five mermaids who tried to keep him from the snitch! He's _dangerous_."

Igor shook his head. "I understand, but we must handle this situation with extreme delicacy. You do not truly understand how much danger you are in."

He crossed the room, putting up an extra quieting charm near the Floo network. Then, he turned to the two headmistresses and said in a low voice, "At the last meeting of the Factions, we discussed grievances against the Ministry. Do you know what the radicals are claiming? That the Ministry is hoarding the power to bring people back to life. They say that they're prolonging the life of the pure bloods by taking it from other wizards. Because of them, magic is fading from the world."

"That's insane," said Minerva, mouth agape. "And you know it's not true."

"Perhaps," said Igor. "But from their perspective, it makes perfect sense. England is the country of Merlin, ruled by the elite of his magical line. They have enacted and promoted hundreds of laws that raise purebloods to a higher status, perpetuating systemic inequality in England _and_ in nations under their influence. So every disadvantaged person from Spain to Poland is blaming their problems on you. Altogether, those are a _lot_ of angry people who are willing to believe all the conspiracies, and many of them have nothing to lose.

Igor paced to the window, and back again to the fireplace. "Not to mention, the British Ministry is known to hoard magical artefacts, prophecies and information, most of which they rarely release to the public. Even the Unspeakables are regularly Obliviated after they leave their positions. You cannot blame them for wondering: why all the secrecy? What are they trying to hide?

"Of particular concern to them is the prophecies. They want information about the boy Potter, including his role in the destruction of the world. This boy, the wealthy son of purebloods who resides where else but _England_."

Minerva sighed. She knew of these prophecies; she'd heard them over and over from Albus while he paced this very office. She had studied them for hours on end, both during the war and for many years after. But prophecies were notoriously vague and prone to misinterpretation, so it was hard to come to any conclusions. She certainly knew better than to take them at face value, as the Factionists seemed to do.

"If we sanction Boris Krum," continued Igor, "then the Factionists will have free reign to target Harry. They will say, 'What about the monster in your walls? Why does he walk free?' They will attack him in retribution, call for his expulsion or worse."

"So you're saying," said Madam Olympe, her lip quivering with rage. "That to make these people happy, my students have to stay at a school where that _creature_ wanders the halls—"

"Careful, now," said Igor. "The walls have ears."

"Do they?" fired back Olympe. "Or are you their eyes and ears? You know, I find it very strange how you are handling this crisis. My first concern would be the safety and protection of the other students, not appeasing the terrorists, as if we could _ever_ make them happy. We need to pour _all_ our efforts into finding out everything we can about Boris Krum."

"I agree," said Minerva. "I know we need to consider the political climate, but we must make our own choices. If the Krum family has remained hidden for centuries, then why did Boris choose to reveal his identity now? Wouldn't that put his family at risk? If he truly has lost control, as the evidence shows, then our first priority is to restrain him.

"We've dealt with magically cursed students before, such as werewolves, but this is different. We ought to be taking steps to ensure he cannot cause us harm. And we absolutely _must_ find a way to prevent him from transforming on school grounds, or he will not be permitted to stay at Hogwarts."

"I will not stand for it either," declared Madam Olympe. "If he stays, power unchecked, then my students will be leaving. He's already chasing after treasure now, are we going to wait until he starts kidnapping princesses?"

Igor stared at the both of them, gaze darkening. "Of course, Boris will be questioned and restrained appropriately, that is a given. But don't forget, he is still a student of Durmstrang, and a citizen of the country of Bulgaria. He is not a criminal and has been a model student his entire academic career. Yes, Boris will be investigated, but under my supervision as his headmaster. If you have concerns, you may supervise and observe as you wish.

"However, what I'm asking is that you refrain from doing something they'll print in newspaper, like call him a "monster" or a "creature" and isolate him on campus. Hogwarts has _already_ been bombed once. The Factionists' numbers are growing, and so is their reach in society. I know this, because I attend their meetings for you. So trust me when I say that if we're not extremely careful, by the end of the year, we'll set in motion the very war we're trying to avoid. You may not like it, but Boris Krum must remain in Hogwarts. We need to focus on building unity in our schools, now more than ever!"

Minerva and Olympe were silent as Igor turned away and stalked toward the window, the press of his anger and resentment almost palpable. Ever since it was revealed he carried a Dark Mark, Karkaroff was viewed with distrust and suspicion by everyone. He'd just barely escaped extradition to Azkaban, and he struggled to maintain his administrative post. To be honest, Minerva still did not trust him, and she was sure her tone of voice conveyed that as well. It probably sounded disrespectful to the man who, supposedly, destroyed his reputation to spy for them.

Not as if that mattered. Right now, there were more important things than his feelings.

By the time Minerva left the meeting, a raw fear had settled deep inside her bones. Outside in the cold, she could see the moon shone bright, but there was something in the air. A metallic taste she'd only sensed a few times before. Inside, her students celebrated in the Great Hall, unaware of what was coming.

Minerva rubbed her face in her hands. She hoped she was wrong, hoped it didn't come to war. She didn't feel strong enough to handle another wave. But in the end, she supposed it didn't matter how hard it was. She'd do her best to protect her students for as long as she could.

And if this time she finally lost her battle, then she hoped she'd prepared her students well enough to take up the fight in her stead.

* * *

Harry stood at the water's edge, watching his classmates return to land by boat.

He had not attended the tournament this time, in part because he was so wrapped up in his own work. By the time he looked up at the clock, the last boats had already left. He considered flying over to the stands, but decided against it. It was in part because he felt slightly ill and his body (especially his hands) felt achy, but mostly because he concluded this was a better way to spend his time.

Perhaps it was. Already this morning, he'd nearly perfected his plan to avoid paying fines, and he had successfully duplicated the Death Fruit. The new fruit had vanished within ten minutes, but his dissection had revealed useful information. With enough practice, he might get the fruit to last long enough to run a few tests.

A few weeks ago, it would have been the most exhilarating thing to have his plans working out for him, and it would have consumed all his waking thoughts. Now, he couldn't help feeling a little empty, as if the achievement needed to be shared with someone.

Which was what led him to stand at the lakeside, waiting for the Aurors to return by boat. He imagined it would take a while, but he didn't mind waiting. It gave him time to decide what to say to her.

 _You're being silly,_ said his Slytherin side. _There's only so many ways you can inform Hermione of your progress. But go ahead, waste your time, see if I care._

 _How about we keep things simple_? suggested Gryffindor. _We'll say,_ ' _Hey, how are you, here's what happened this morning.' No, wait, needs to be more interesting. Got any funny jokes?_

 _What about this?_ said Hufflepuff. _'Knock knock, who's there? It's death!' Then, you pull out a death fruit from behind your back._

 _Okay, but needs spooky sound effects,_ said Gryffindor. _'It'sss deeaaatth. Mwhahaha!'_

 _Guys, will you just let me do the talking?_ asked Ravenclaw. _Please?_

Along the water, the first few boats were arriving, carrying students in uniforms of brown and blue. Harry stared out at the tower islands, wondering which one Hermione was on, trying to ignore the fact that his heart was beating really fast.

 _I repeat,_ huffed Slytherin. _This is silly._

 _Agreed,_ said Ravenclaw. _I mean, heh, there's no way she's going to run over, hug me, and tell me she missed me. It's not proper for an Auror._

 _But it is proper for friends, and why stop at a hug?_ suggested Science. _I hear in Beauxbatons they kiss on the cheek as a greeting._

The first few boats docked on the shore, and the visiting students spilled onto the grass, their robes dripping wet. Raising his eyebrows, Harry watched the shivering students march towards the Great Hall, trying to figure out why they hadn't dried themselves. Probably Durmstrang was trying to show off how macho they were again.

In fact, among those who were on the boats, only a few younger students looked comfortably dry. A few tiny first years, and…

The boy who was Harry's age walked up the hill, his brown robes immaculate, his blond hair perfectly in place. Without thinking, Harry stepped in front of him, blocking his path.

After a few moments of silence, Harry cleared his throat. "Long time no see, Draco."

* * *

There were some things that annoyed Draco about being an Adult. Sure, it was nice being called a Lord and having a seat on the Wizengamot. But he was also expected to be responsible, act civil and treat annoying people with respect.

Take Harry, for instance. Draco had expected he'd be prepared for meeting his former best friend. He'd thought their conversation would be calm, polite and perhaps even pleasant. A faux friendship with Harry could be quite valuable, after all.

But now that he saw Harry, all he could think about was punching him in the face. The fact that he _couldn't_ go all schoolyard bully and beat Harry to a pulp was most aggravating.

While Draco's blood boiled, the Boy-Who-Lived kept talking, rubbing a hand through his annoyingly unkempt hair. Did he just not own a comb? "I didn't expect to see you, Draco. How have you been?"

Draco stared at Harry. "I've been well." The words felt and sounded cold. "How about you?"

"I have been doing well also. I've been working on scientific experiments, and some new members joined the Bayesian Conspiracy. But I suppose I've told you as much in my letters. Did you ever receive them?"

"The three letters you sent? Yes, I did."

"Oh. Because, you never responded, so I wasn't sure. I thought that perhaps the owl didn't find the correct address."

Harry was rubbing his hair again, and Draco was speechless. Did he…honestly still imagine they were friends? That Draco would respond to his letters and they'd be pen pals? The thought of even _touching_ the letters that Harry had sent him made Draco feel sick. He'd wasted no time in burning them to ashes.

"My apologies," responded Draco mechanically. "I've been busy."

"What have you been up to?" asked Harry expectantly. "I've been curious about your life in Durmstrang."

"Studying," said Draco. "Among other things."

Draco was losing patience with Harry's questions. He knew he should take the opportunity to try to get information from Harry, something to use against him, but he couldn't calm down. He wanted to get away, go to his meeting, maybe punch a wall afterwards.

Harry paused, frowning. "Okay, I'm confused," he said finally. "I must have messed up somewhere, socially speaking. If you tell me what it is, then perhaps I can make amends. I've realized that I have a tendency to be manipulative, but I've been working to correct that—"

"Are you serious?" said Draco, unable to contain himself. "Do I honestly have to explain to you what you did to me?"

"It's umm…the manipulation—"

"Bloody hell, Harry!" cried Draco. "Are you really that stupid? Or do you honestly not remember?"

Draco blinked, as realization hit him like a tank.

 _He must have Obliviated himself to avoid being caught and sent to Azkaban._

The thought enraged Draco more than he'd ever imagined was possible. Harry got away completely scott free. No punishment, no loss of status, no haunting dreams that woke him in terror. He'd gotten rid of it all with a wave of his wand. Meanwhile, Draco had been left to pick up the shattered pieces of his life, alone.

"Unbelievable. To the very end, you manipulate me," said Draco, his voice sounding hurt, which made him even angrier. He hated that some part of him still cared for the Boy-Who-Lived, the first friend he'd ever had.

"I—" Harry paused, his gaze frantic. "I don't know what I did. But whatever it was, I'm sorry, Draco."

"No, you're not," said Draco. _But you will be._

"Draco?" said a girl's voice. He turned to see Hermione, standing a few paces below them on the hill.

Draco put on his best Malfoy smile. "It appears you have company, Harry. I don't want to keep you from your friend, and I've a meeting I must attend, so…goodbye."

Draco stalked away, his heart pounding with fury and his new resolve.

Harry would face what he had done. That memory was in Harry somewhere, and Draco would dredge it up, force him to see the monster inside him. Even if it was the last thing he did.

* * *

Harry stared after Draco, his fists clenched tight. He couldn't tell what exactly he was feeling, aside from immense confusion about what had just happened.

When Harry learned that Draco was leaving for Durmstrang, Harry had decided he wouldn't let that hinder their friendship. They could write letters, just like he and Hermione did. But when his first three letters went unreturned, Harry had reasoned he should give Draco some space. Perhaps he was grieving for his father, or too busy adjusting to Durmstrang. And then, Harry had gotten busy, and just…forgotten to contact him again.

Hermione touched his shoulder. "What wrong, Harry?"

"I…don't know," said Harry, still looking at Draco's retreating back. "I think I'm missing something."

"What do you mean?" asked Hermione. "What happened?"

Harry chewed the inside of his cheek, trying to figure out how to respond. Finally, he shook his head.

There was something missing, that much Harry knew. However, he wasn't entirely sure if it was a memory he'd lost, or something worse. Some component inside of him that just never existed.

Because when he really thought about it…he wasn't sure if he and Draco had ever been friends. Harry had manipulated Draco, yes, to turn him to the light side and away from the Death Eaters. He'd tried to teach him about rationality, and his plan had been working. Harry had someday hoped to work with Draco, to combine their skills to accomplish their goals together.

But their relationship wasn't like what he had with Hermione, or even with Neville. They mistrusted one other, always trying to figure out what the other was hiding. It was a constant game of cat and mouse, and they never built a connection outside of using each other. Harry remembered all those times Draco had yelled at Harry, screaming in rage and frustration, and maybe he wasn't just being overdramatic. Maybe Harry had pushed him to the edge without realizing it.

It was ironic that Harry only realized, as Draco was walking away, how much he still missed him. His chest felt tight, knowing it was too late to change anything.

He felt Hermione's hand touch his shoulder.

"Are you okay? Come on, let's go get some dinner and talk about it."

Harry swallowed. He let Hermione lead him away, but he already knew.

It wasn't going to be okay.

* * *

Lavender pushed her pasta around her plate, to make it look like she'd been eating. Every so often, when a student entered the room, she glanced at the doorway.

Inside her, clustered in a ball of liquid darkness, was an overwhelming sense of Doom.

This had been going on for months now, and she didn't know how to handle it anymore. She'd tried embracing her precognitive powers, had attempted to bring something good out of them. But all she'd succeeded in was terrifying herself and her classmates with creepy voodoo magic.

After Christmas, things had only gotten worse. She felt so tense that she had trouble sleeping, and when she did sleep, her dreams woke her more often than not. It had been happening to Trelawney, too, but her professor's only suggestion had been to give her a sleeping draught. "The spirits lie, my dear," Trelawney said, her voice full of heartbreak. "My dreams and visions have never saved anyone. Better to forsake it all and get some rest."

Lavender couldn't accept that. She'd gone to the Headmistress, and to Professor Flitwick, but neither of them had helped her. She'd even badgered Mad Eye into talking to her, but he just squinted into her eyes and told her to be prepared.

 _For what?_ She'd wanted to scream. _What is it that you won't tell me?_

She hated it. She didn't want to know that something terrible was coming. She hated that it made her lash out at her friends, like Romilda, for reasons she didn't even understand. If the spirits, or whatever it was, needed her help so badly, then why didn't they tell her some clear information? Why were all the visions she received in fragments? Didn't they trust her enough to give her something she could use?

There was one unanswered question that scared her more than anything. Was there still time to change her future? Or when the great battle finally came, would it be the end for her, too?

She looked around the table, but neither Romilda nor Ginny had arrived yet. That fact only increased the sense of Doom inside her.

Headmistress McGonagall stood up from her seat at the head table, clearing her throat. Her voice amplified, she announced, "Students, I would like your attention please. After our exciting tournament today, I would like to congratulate our contestants. The final scores are as follows: Durmstrang is in first place with 12 points. Beauxbatons scored 3rd in this round, but is still in 2nd place overall with 10 points. Hogwarts is in a close 3rd place with 9 points."

McGonagall waited a moment as the students from each school clapped for their champions. Then, she said, "To reward each school for their marvelous performances, I have decided to reinstate the school dance. In three weeks, we will have a Spring Festival. Any student from all three schools in their 4th year or higher is welcome to attend." McGonagall smiled brightly, though Lavender caught the tension in her eyes. "Well done, champions! I hope this will be an opportunity for all of our schools to come together to have fun and better understand each other."

The room exploded into cheers, and McGonagall had to wait again for everyone to quiet down. Lavender clutched her stomach, the fear rising in her. But _why_?

"I understand that there isn't much time to prepare for the dance. However, if anyone would like to help with the planning committee, there is a sign up sheet on the back table." Students had already started talking over her. McGonagall cleared her throat meaningfully, and the chatter stopped.

As the Headmistress made a few more points, Lavender glanced down the table at Ron. The visions of Doom had put a strain on their relationship, not that there had been much of one in the first place, but maybe she could convince him to go with her anyway. She didn't want to die before she got to have her first dance.

Someone tapped her shoulder, and Lavender looked up to see Romilda smiling at her. She glowed like she'd just gotten the best kiss ever. Or, in Romilda's case, the best scoop ever.

But Lavender didn't miss the manic glean in her eye. _That_ was the most terrifying thing of all.

"Hi Lavender!" she said. "I'm working with the Daily Prophet on a report for today's game. Do you mind if I interview you?"

* * *

Swirling like a ball of tangled yarn, the flashes of images in his mind told Draco the mental transfer was complete.

Draco frowned. Failure, it had been a failure. He could already tell. The memories she was supposed to give him were the ones she siphoned from others, not her _own_ memories.

Frazzled, Draco paused, bracing himself against the wall. If he had the ancient device, he would be able to unravel each memory right away, but it was currently in the service of more pressing matters. For now, he would have to wait until his own mind worked them out, and that wasn't an easy process for him yet.

With some difficulty, Draco cast the Patronus and sent his snake with a message, "Tell the priestess I am finished meeting with Subject 1002. I will return shortly."

Wandering along, he rubbed his forehead. Maybe he'd expected too much from her, too quickly? Or perhaps he'd expected too much of himself. Either way, he'd have to pour over these memories to see if there was anything useful, decide if she was worth using again. Perhaps he ought to cut his losses and start over.

Memories like confetti clouded his vision, flashes of schoolbooks, boring lectures, and laughing with friends in the common room. A normal life.

Draco paused, his feet shuffling to a stop beside a large painting. Seeing Hogwarts brought back some of his own memories. His first year at the school had been full of adventure and possibility, like a pages of a story waiting to be written. But now it felt unreal, as if that version of Draco was gone. Hogwarts felt like a world of ghosts.

A girl passed by him, pretty red hair bouncing behind her, and Draco's eyes followed her until she rounded the corner. He walked on, feeling strangely sad and wistful.

"Excuse me, my boy," asked a cajoling voice. "Are you lost?"

Draco turned and saw a portly professor with owlish glasses, gazing at him with curiosity. His robes were tinged with a Slytherin green.

Draco shook his head. "No, sir, I'm just on my way out—"

The professor blinked, lifting a hand to his chest. "My word! You're Draco Malfoy, aren't you? Oh, excuse me, I mean _Lord_ Malfoy." The professor gave a polite nod, regarding him with an avid, curious expression. "My name is Professor Slughorn, but please, call me Horace. I taught your father during his Hogwarts years, and he was a remarkable orator. He could convince anyone to do anything, which is a rare trait, even among Slytherins." The professor smiled, extending a hand down the corridor. "I have been hoping to get a chance to speak with you. Will you do me the favor of having tea in my office?"

Draco considered this. He didn't know this man, and his excessive flattery was a bit off-putting. Still, this was the first person Draco had met in a while that a) actually liked his father and b) wasn't an insipid lackey. Maybe Draco could learn something new about who his father really was.

Not to mention, with the power currently running through his veins, he _could_ potentially find out useful information. He wasn't sure this was a good idea—in fact, this was quite the opposite of what he'd told his spy to do. Professors weren't safe Legilimency targets. But if Draco was able to read his mind, then at least his visit to Hogwarts wouldn't be a total loss…and he wouldn't have to disappoint _her_.

Of course, this could also be a trap, so Draco would have to be on his guard. He needed to be careful to safeguard his own information while mining the professor for his. But then again, wasn't that what he'd been trained to do?

Setting up his Occlumency barriers, Draco followed the professor to his office.

* * *

For the last month, Ellie's secretary job at the Ministry had been a nightmare. She hated working extended shifts, filling out obscene amounts of paperwork to admit visitors, and dealing with personal item searches from creepy old security guards.

She needed a vacation, and a boyfriend to complain about all this to.

What she didn't need was a level 5 crisis lock down right before she was about to clock out to go home.

* * *

Harry sat outside the door to Madam Bone's office in the Ministry, turning a page in his book. There were no chairs, so he took a seat on the carpet. It didn't bother him, and no one was giving him weird looks since he and his book were currently invisible.

Harry checked his watch again, which read 4:53. Madam Bones was cutting it a little close for her next meeting, unless her schedule had changed. Harry had tried to time his appearance so that they'd have at least 15 minutes, but now it was looking more like he'd have five.

A few seconds later, a woman with steel grey hair and a face hardened with tension popped into existence less than a meter away from him. From Harry's research, he knew there were unbreakable Apparition wards within the Ministry. So, either she'd found another way to teleport places, or they'd built in an exception for the Chief Witch of the Wizengamot.

Harry put away his book, stood up, and set up a protection spell around himself. He waited a fraction of a second more, just to see if Madam Bones would recognize his presence. His original plan had been to follow her into the office and then reappear, which might have been effective if he was trying to make a power play. However, considering he was trying to get a reprieve for his illegal activities, he decided to go with the route that made him look less…sketchy.

When she didn't even look in his direction, but instead cast the spell to unlock her door, Harry sighed inwardly and dropped his invisibility spell.

Madam Bones whirled and turned her wand on him, an expression of pure shock on her face. However, she did not fire on him like he'd expected (offensive spells _were_ allowed within the Ministry). After a moment, Harry let his protection spell dissipate.

"Good afternoon, Madam Bones. Is it a bad time to talk?"

Her expression changed from shock to a scowl, and faster than he could blink, she'd dragged him into her office and closed the door.

"Harry Potter," she said, her calm voice laced with an undercurrent of rage. "I'm not even going to ask how you knew I had a meeting scheduled for this time, or how you successfully evaded my warding spells. But I need to know how you got into the Ministry. We have strict guidelines for visitors, and you should not have been allowed in this building."

"Umm…" This was actually not something Harry had expected. "I…just…walked in the front door. The guards weren't admitting people upstairs without a pass, and since I didn't have six weeks to apply for one, I turned invisible, walked past them, and took the stairs."

"That's not possible," said Madam Bones flatly. "You're only a fifth year, and no spell you could learn is powerful enough to deceive both the guards and the wards."

"I practice constantly," said Harry Potter, holding up his hand to show his ring, the giant rock that he kept under constant transfiguration. "Perhaps the spell is that powerful, or I'm just that good at evading security systems." The look of shock and helplessness that crossed her face gave him pause. "If you want, I can show you the spell I used, so you can key it to the wards. There's a few Muggle inventions that can improve your security as well."

Madam Bones ran a hand through her hair, let it fall in limp strands around her face. He noticed bags under her eyes. "Why are you here, Harry?"

From his pouch, Harry extracted the letter from the Ministry. "I received a fine for practicing underaged magic, and I would like to—"

Madam Bones grabbed the letter, gave it the briefest of glances, and then lit it on fire. A paper flitted in from her filing cabinet, which she signed with a blaze of her wand.

"Your debt is cleared," she said, handing Harry a duplicate of the paper. "Which is what I'm assuming you came here to argue for. Now, does that conclude our business?"

Harry stared at the paper, a signed receipt of the transaction. Like a lawyer going to court, he had spent days preparing his case. He'd found prior evidence of rulings regarding leniency with the use of underaged magic, as well as inconsistencies in several consequences for magical infractions that proved he was being grossly overfined. He'd expected he would have more than enough information, but he couldn't help feeling disappointed he didn't get to use _any_ of it.

Before Harry could respond, Madam Bones had turned him invisible again. Harry discovered that he couldn't move when the door opened and two Aurors entered the room.

To the Auror on the left, a woman with pale blonde hair, she said, "Helen, I need you to go to the store and buy a few things for me. Since it's an unauthorized exit and I don't want your pay to be docked, use my key." Madam Bones floated her key over to the woman, who frowned but accepted the order with a nod. To the Auror on the right, Madam Bones said, "Mark, I need a list of all visitors and staff who have entered or exited the building within the last week, and I need it within 7 minutes."

When Harry found he could move again, the pull of a magical tether forced him to follow the blonde haired Auror outside. He knew, without being asked, that he was expected to apply his invisibility charm to pass through the wards. When Harry passed through the detection waterfall, he felt something tingling over him, and he knew Madam Bones had keyed the wards to his presence. He wouldn't be able to pull the same trick again.

As he exited the building, the tether broke. He waited for the Auror to cross the street before becoming visible again. Harry walked in the opposite direction, lost in thought, the wind beating against his coat jacket.

For all intents and purposes, Harry had just been smuggled out of the building, and that confused him. Madam Bones' level of caution might have made sense if he was breaking out of a prison, but not for leaving a government office. He had exposed a security lapse in their system, and granted, most authority figures didn't take that well, and it wouldn't have surprised him if he'd been thrown out. But the _way_ she'd done it made it seem like she was desperate to keep him hidden.

Furthermore, his exchange with Madam Bones had been highly unusual. His actions had annoyed and irritated her, but she'd still immediately pardoned his fine and sent him away without any sort of punishment for sneaking into the Ministry. She hadn't even taken the time to ask him how he cast his invisibility spell, but perhaps she knew of a better one.

In fact, now that he realized it, she hadn't just looked tired and stressed. She'd been _scared_ to have him in her office…but why?

Then Harry remembered the spiders in Hogwarts, predicting doom, and the warnings of the Ashwinders. The extra security along each floor of the Ministry, the quiet and harried looks on everyone's faces.

Something was wrong, and he needed to figure out what.

Harry crossed the street, turned the corner, and found the nearest newspaper stand.

"Excuse me," he said to the vendor. "I need a copy of the Quibbler, the Daily Prophet, and as many back issues as you have of each from up to twelve months ago."

* * *

Auror Mark returned 8 minutes later with copies of the sign in sheets of visitors and staff. The information had been magically compiled to include facial profiles next to the names and dates, a summarized list of each person's activities, and to highlight in red anyone was acting outside the normal parameters of either their job duties or the expected activities of a visitor (like trying to access a floor you aren't supposed to be on). Madam Bones had these lists closely monitored and analyzed on a daily basis. If someone's name was highlighted in red, they would be called into her office and their pay was garnished, which encouraged employees to stay on task.

It wasn't one of her most popular decisions, but Madam Bones didn't care. She didn't need her employees to like her, she just needed them to get their jobs done.

And so, when Madam Bones accepted the list from Auror Mark, she wasn't surprised when he looked irritated at her. "Auror Mark," she said, as he was leaving. "Can you also bring everyone who was on this floor in the last hour to the conference room?"

He shuffled his feet, suddenly defensive. "Why?"

This was the third time she'd had to purge his memory in the last week. Vestiges of them must have remained intact, because now he was questioning her decision.

As she checked through the list, she noticed something was…off. Madam Bones examined these logs twice a day, so she'd seen all this data before. She couldn't put her finger on what, but there was something wrong with the list.

Madam Bones stood, Obliviated the man, and asked him to bring her the exact same list as before. Then she went down to the surveillance area and examined the raw data collected, painstakingly comparing it to the compiled list.

A few minutes later, she noticed a name that kept popping up. She wasn't a regular visitor, but when she did come, she stayed for quite some time. As of yesterday, visits longer than 30 minutes put someone in the red. And now, her name was conveniently not on the list.

Madam Bones whipped open her Auror mirror and called security. "Lock this place down, and arrest Auror Mark for tampering. Use available resources to track down Karen Silhaven. I believe she might be one of our moles."


	39. Asking the Right Questions

Chapter 39: Asking the Right Questions

 _January 1st, 1996_

Draco didn't quite know what to think of the Priestess.

He was currently sitting in her tower room in Durmstrang, swirling his fork in his dinner. As usual, she had prepared a meal before their meeting. While they dined together, Draco and the other leaders reported on their work with the Factionists. She, in turn, asked questions before issuing further orders.

There was nothing all that strange about this arrangement, he supposed. His father often met with his subordinates over dinner. It helped to establish bonds and showed you were generous enough to share from your table. Still, Draco felt a sense of unease when he met with her, and he was struggling to pinpoint why.

Perhaps it had something to do with her odd mix of traits. She was obviously quite powerful and cunning, to the point that she reminded him (to his chagrin) of Harry Potter with more charisma. She commanded blind loyalty from her followers, and they would readily give their lives for her. The Factionists believed in their benefactress, and she was delivering on her promises. Each day, they grew closer to making free England a reality.

But at times, she seemed to fade to the point she was only half-present. When they met privately, which happened on occasion, she was different. She'd speak to Draco in riddles, her eyes searching his for understanding, and then abruptly lapse into a hostile silence. She often spent her time, while he gave his report, staring at a giant mirror in her room. Her fingers would tap against the arm rest, as if irritated she wasn't free to be alone with her thoughts.

At the moment, though, she was quite animated, excited by the recent turn of events. The other leaders had been dismissed for the day, and only Draco remained, sitting at her small coffee table.

"Draco," she said, pouring him a bit more tea. "We are in a position to move forward to the next step, and I believe you're ready for your first group of informants. However, we first need to make a change of plans. My followers have been focused on collecting information about the philosopher's stone and the source of magic. You and a few others will be looking for something else."

"What do you mean?" asked Draco.

The Priestess picked up her cup and added two sugars, stirring slowly. "There are prophecies that the end of the world is coming. Let's assume they're true. We need to figure out why, when, and how we can stop it. I firmly believe that the evidence we seek is in one of two places. I'm already exploring one, now you are tasked with exploring the other.

"If it turns out the prophecies are misinterpreted, then we can move forward with our original plan. But if not, we must be prepared. Draco, you must guide your new team toward this avenue of questioning, even if it means you must sacrifice other information in the process."

Draco frowned, hiding it behind a sip of tea. There was only so much intel they could collect, usually no more than the answer to 3 questions at a time. He understood why they needed to change tactics, but his mother was living on borrowed time. He needed to find out where the philosopher's stone was, and soon, so he could heal her.

The Priestess stirred her cup thoughtfully. "Normally, I wouldn't concern myself with seers. Over the centuries, there have been quite a few prophecies regarding the end of the world. They're not common, but they're far from rare. I've always dismissed them as fearmongering, as they never amount to anything.

"However, I have heard a few of the recent prophecies, and something about them doesn't add up. I think we're missing some important piece of information, and we need to find out what it is before the Ministry does. It's very important to influence the bend of the prophecy. You must be my eyes and ears, Draco, where I cannot go."

Draco nodded, trying to resign himself. His mother could not live in a world of ash—finding out how to save the world was a priority. Not to mention, he was being given a great responsibility-at a very young age at that-and he wasn't about to botch it up by voicing his opinion.

"I know a school is not an easy place to gather information, but I believe you are ready," continued the Priestess. "Seek out our spy in Hogwarts. He will help you to choose the right candidates to begin training. One last thing, Draco."

Leaning back against her seat, the Priestess regarded him with an intense gaze. In an instant, Draco was doubled over against the shock of electric pain that rippled through his body. He panicked, bracing himself helplessly against the earthquake of energy that threatened to shred his bones. She hadn't cast any magic, not that he was aware—but he had the distinct feeling of being cut through by a saw.

Spots blooming behind his vision, he looked down, and saw a small, round ring on the table between them. The Priestess made a motion with her hand. "That is your first taste of its power. It will get easier over time. Go ahead, touch it."

Draco didn't move for a moment. It was only her fixed gaze, quiet and unmoving in its expectation, that drove him to eventually pick it up. It was cool to the touch, and it felt and looked like an ordinary object.

"Now," she said, tenting her fingers. "There are three important things I want you to remember about seeking confidential information through legilimency."

"First," she said, raising one finger. "You have to ask the right questions. Ancient power is useful, but it's pointless if you can't activate the memories you need. Be familiar with the person you're speaking to, and target their wells of knowledge. In this way you will make the most of each encounter.

"Second, you need to ask the right people. Choose someone who is worth your time, but be aware of your limitations. I wouldn't target McGonagall on your first go, for example, and sometimes underlings know as much as the headmistress on certain matters. Do not, of course, touch Obliviated information unless you want your informants in chains or dead. Otherwise, you need to ask as many people as possible, and no one should be able to guess you're the one who's asking."

"I understand," said Draco, holding her ring in his hands. He knew he wasn't the first to use her magic for this, knew he shouldn't act too much like he couldn't handle the responsibility. But…

He had not expected that much power from the ring, and knew it was the sort of magic that was perfect for exploitation by dark wizards. It made him feel very, very nervous. He looked down at the ring, tried to imagine himself using it, and drew a complete blank.

"How do I...get started?"

She smiled, with a delicate lift of her shoulders.

"Simple. Just follow rule number three. Make some friends."

* * *

[Memory 1]

January 8th, 1996

Romilda had been in a rotten mood lately.

First off, she'd been forced to spend Christmas with her dad, who insisted on taking her ice fishing on the lake, while her teeth chattered at 15 below zero. She would have much preferred spending Christmas with her mother, but she was still wrapping up a case out in Mozambique. Romilda had begged her mum to let her portkey into the village, but her mum had launched into an explanation as to why it was far too dangerous, and Romilda had finally given up.

Now, Romilda was back in school, but even though she was no longer a human popsicle, her mood hadn't improved. She was just settling into bed when she realized that the problem was that Hogwarts was a colossal waste of time. Aside from Apparating, she'd already learned everything she'd wanted to learn from her professors. The rest—mind magic, lock picking, detective charms and the other important things—she'd had to study on her own.

Lying back on her pillow, she stared at the picture above her head of Lockhart. Her childhood dream had been to find a man who would whisk her away to all kinds of adventures. Life was too short to spend it cooped up in a drafty old castle, like some sad sleeping beauty.

Romilda turned over, and noticed there was an owl tapping at the window. She opened the window, took the offered letter, and unsealed it.

 _Dear Ms. Romilda Vane,_

 _My name is Mr. Black, and I am excited to offer you an amazing opportunity to be part of the adventure of a lifetime. I recently became acquainted with your mother, and she has told me great things about your potential in journalism. My organization is in need of inquiring minds such as yours to help us unearth information, and these secrets may be instrumental in changing the world._

 _First, let me tell you a little about our project. In the Wizarding Community, there is a lot of information—such as spells, potions, and charms-that has been lost over time. My company has recently acquired a means of gathering this information, and with it, we hope to restore the magic that has been lost. However, we need your help to do it._

 _Before we schedule an interview, please answer this brief questionnaire (see second page) about yourself to show that your talents meet the needs of the position. Secondly, please write a letter of intent to explain why you'd like to pursue it as a career. Please reply no later than January 12th if you would like to be considered for this position. Thank you for your time, and I look forward to hearing from you soon._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Mr. Arthur Black_

Romilda stared at the letter for a good long moment, then burst into laughter.

That was themost _ridiculous_ thing she'd ever read in her life. First of all, Mr. Black had neglected to even provide a name for his company. Second of all, even if he'd really met her mother, it doesn't make any sense to send unsolicited job offers to a minor. I mean, really, this was basic level stuff for con artists.

On the other hand, his offer sounded mildly intriguing. She would indeed like to know more about how to uncover secrets that could "change the world." If she was lucky, she could keep this letter exchange going for a while before he started asking for money.

After a few seconds of internal debate, she got out her quill and started writing. After all, it wasn't like she had anything better to do.

* * *

"This is ridiculous," sighed Katie Bell, setting the letter off to the side. "The Arcadians are booked through August. That's the 5th band that's told us they're unavailable."

Daphne frowned, and took another sip of her coffee, even though it was already past 8:00 pm. She had a feeling this planning meeting would take a while.

The Beauxbatons common room was currently a mess of party materials, including clothing swatches, different types of dishware, and a large assortment of flowers. The girls had transfigured some of it earlier, then—like a kid with ADHD—they'd transfigured more before making a decision on the rest.

Their planning committee consisted of fifteen students from various houses, though only half showed up. Susan Bones and Ginny were in the corner, rehearsing a few dance steps. Parvati had taken Romilda's place for the dance, since neither she nor Lavender were present. Marguerite had shown up for ten minutes before going to bed.

"Is there anyone else we can call?" asked Parvati.

"Umm…well, there's always the Beasts," said Katie. "But that's scratching the bottom of the barrel."

"Ginny," said Susan, turning to her, "Doesn't Ron play in a band?"

Ginny snorted. "Yes, but he's not good." She pulled a scrunchie off her wrist and twisted it into her hair. "He never practices since all he does is snog Lavender."

"Eww, isn't she into séance stuff now? What does Ron even see in her?"

Ginny held out her hands over her chest, and some of the girls snickered. Daphne felt a burning sensation in the back of her throat, and took a sip of her coffee.

"They're _soo_ gross," complained Ginny, rolling her eyes. "I can't even hang out in the Gryffindor common room anymore. I'd rather listen to Luna ramble about Snortblats."

"You know, Luna's into the séance stuff too, just like Lavender," said Katie. "They both got in trouble with McGonagall for doing stuff in the dungeons. Luna tells me things sometimes, but it's seriously weird."

Just then, Boris Krum stepped into the room, turning to look at everyone. "Aren't you coming?" he asked matter-of-factly. Then, he walked back out, closing the door behind him.

"Err…what just happened?" asked Susan.

Ginny glowered. "It's a secret Durmstrang party. Everybody's going to be there. Anyway _we_ don't have to go." A few moments later. "Okay, we'll go, but only for a few minutes."

Daphne hung back, taking a minute to finish her coffee, while Parvati stayed behind to fiddle with clothing swatches. She was debating skipping the party and going to bed early, when Lavender sat down on the couch beside her.

"Oh. Where did you come from?" asked Daphne.

"I was upstairs," said Lavender. "In the Beauxbatons dorm."

She sounded cheerful enough, but Daphne could see the girl was shaking, staring at the closed door.

"Anyway," she continued. "Do you mind contacting McGonagall for me?"

* * *

A screeching wind whipped Cedric's robes as he braced himself against the wall, hanging on for dear life. It pulled him relentlessly down to his Death—aka a wall of sharp spikes-that had risen from the stone walls to impale him.

All around him, heralding his demise, was a wild cackling sound, "Mwhahaha! Fly my little birds, fly!"

A second voice resounded. "Take that, you harpy!" followed by a chaotic boom.

Cedric groaned, wondering how Hogwarts wasn't a pile of ash at this point. Were _all_ their duelling sessions like this?

He'd expected this kind of duelling behaviour from Tonks, of course. She once dyed her clothing different colours right before class, and with a completely straight face, asked her students why they were giggling.

But Hermione, who was supposedly on Cedric's side, was just as terrible. Her hair whipping violently in the wind, she clawed her way along the wall, hurling chunks of stone at Tonks. The chunks of wall exploded, forming tendrils which shot out and tried to ensnare Tonks. "Ohh, kinky," said Tonks, swatting them away with her wand. "But you need to buy me a drink first."

 _These girls are_ crazy _!_ thought Cedric.

But that wasn't even the worst part. When Tonks cast the spell that could only be described as a Vortex of Doom, Cedric barely had enough time to cement himself to the wall. He'd only been able to affix it to his robes, and they were ripping, in the _worst places._

Cedric gripped the wall hard, trying to ignore how his underoos were about to be put on display. He felt a hand bracing his arm, and turned to see Hermione, a frantic look in her eye.

"Cedric!" cried Hermione. "We need to stop Tonks! If you could…"The wind picked up, and she said something else he couldn't hear.

"What?" cried Cedric.

"We need to-before we-"

Abruptly, the wind died, and the two Aurors in training, who had been stretched horizontal, plunged in a sprawl of arms and legs onto the ground.

"You guys are so cute," said Tonks, hands cupped under her chin. "Now kiss."

Cedric extricated himself and scrambled back to the wall, while Hermione glared at Tonks, who hovered in the hair as if on an invisible magic carpet, grinning like the Cheshire cat.

"So," said Hermione, an irritated glint in her eye. "Are you going to explain _why_ you stole my spell?

"First, it's not stealing if you leave your spell book open, translations and everything." She shrugged nonchalantly.

"I was trying to get your help—"

"Second of all," said Tonks. "Since you two haven't had much time to train together, I reasoned this would be an excellent opportunity to build solidarity while clocking in some training hours. Remember, I am still your defence teacher."

Cedric cringed under Tonks' smirking gaze, as he hastily tried to mend his shredded robes. Hermione avoided looking at him, for which he was grateful.

"Third of all," sighed Tonks. "I didn't stop the Vortex. Sadly, right before you and Cedric rose to defeat the evil monster lady like the shining paragons of humanity you are, the Vortex went kaput all on its own."

"Okay," said Hermione, exhaling slowly. "So the spell lasted for about…five minutes. Thank you, Tonks, for another informative yet incredibly terrifying training session."

"Anytime, dear," said Tonks, whipping out her Auror mirror. "Now shoo, I have to talk to Mad Eye."

While Tonks was talking to Alastor Moody, Hermione searched the wreckage for her wand. Cedric heard a cooing noise as an owl fluttered in through a hole in the wall and landed beside him, a small yellow envelope in its beak. Smiling, Cedric opened it, patting the bird's head before it flew away.

"Alrighty!" said Tonks, shoving her mirror in her pocket. "Who's ready for round 2? I promise I'll keep the body morphing to a respectable level this time."

"Afraid I'll have to pass, Tonks," said Cedric. "While I appreciate the training, I really do, I have to go help Cho with shoe shopping for the Spring Festival."

 _Not to mention,_ he thought. _Some of us have PTSD from last year, and you're_ _not helping._

"You're…going _shoe shopping_ with her?" Tonks let out a long sigh. "Oh, Hermione, it looks like we met Cedric a few months too late, didn't we? I hope Cho appreciates you, is all I'm saying."

"Hey, don't rope me into your fantasies," said Hermione. "I hope you have fun, Cedric!"

"Ha ha, thanks," said Cedric. "Well, see you girls later."

As Cedric was leaving, he heard Tonks responding, "I wouldn't rope you into my fantasies if _yours_ weren't so boring."

* * *

It wasn't long before Hermione left the room, thoroughly convinced that Tonks just liked to make her suffer. It was beyond annoying, but more to the point, it was just plain _embarrassing_ she'd been beaten by her own spell. Why did all their training sessions have to be so intense?

Hermione had been walking for a few minutes when she realized she had no idea where she was. She stopped, scanning her surroundings for clues or a helpful portrait to guide her back. Strange. She had been following a feeling of expectation, as if Adventure was calling…

She quirked a smile, and then drew out her Auror mirror. Harry didn't pick up, so she left a video message. "Are you busy? If you're not, I'll see you at the quest entry point." As she sent the message, she realized she hadn't actually talked to him in weeks. One more try couldn't hurt.

She called him again. "Harry, I really do hope you can come. It's not half as fun if I'm not competing with you. Besides, we did agree on meeting once a week, and we haven't done that yet this week…or last week, actually. So, this week we should meet twice, right? And, anyway…I hope you can make it!"

A third message. "Sorry, umm…I just wanted to say, even if you're not coming, please tell me! I miss you. You also don't have to meet me twice, just once is okay."

She hung up and resisted sending another message, because this was getting ridiculous. Why was she second guessing everything she said to him?

From further down the hallway, she heard voices. Curious, she walked towards them. Most likely, it was portraits having a conversation, which sometimes was fun to listen to. Turning a corner to a dusty alcove, she saw the painting: a boy with black, curly hair, playing near the cliffs by the sea. He was bouncing a golden ball, humming softly to himself. He stopped when he saw Hermione, the ball falling to the ground.

His eyes grew wide. "Maman?"

Hermione blinked, then shook her head. "Non, je ne suis pas. Comment t'appelles-tu?"

He smiled a toothy grin. "Je m'appelle Anton." Anton rambled more, but it was in an accent she couldn't recognize. After a few more fruitless attempts, the boy eventually picked up his ball and left.

Hermione scratched her head. A French painting, in Hogwarts? But why would it be here? When she had more time, she needed to investigate this corridor, there might be other interesting finds.

Turning back, she followed the feeling of adventure, when she heard the sound of footfalls. _Harry? He came after all?_ Her heart skipping a beat, she followed the sound, hoping to surprise him. But when she caught up, she bumped into someone else who was definitely not Harry.

"Woah! Sorry, Hermione I was-"

"Dean? What are you doing here?"

* * *

Harry stood at the quest entry point, balancing his wand on two fingers and trying not to freak out.

This would be his first Hogwarts quest with Hermione since before Christmas. He had been hoping their first time back—if it ever happened—would be fun, lighthearted, and with minimal awkwardness. However, considering his ability to form coherent thought around her was severely limited, he saw approximately zero percent chance of that happening.

Harry dropped his wand, fumbling as he picked it up. He'd considered declining Hermione's invitation in order to work on his new project. But after listening to her third message, he didn't have the heart to say no. If she wanted to see him, then he was willing to go through a little awkwardness for her sake.

But he wasn't going in unprepared, oh no, especially since some of his component parts refused to be rational.

 _You know, this is an excellent opportunity,_ commented Science, gleefully rubbing her hands. _Not only do you get to complete a quest, now is your chance to finally confess your love! We should—_

 _Woah woah, wait, love?_ balked Ravenclaw _. We never agreed to this, and besides, it's a severe crush at best._

 _You think about her approximately 98% of the day,_ retorted Science. _You adore every little thing about her, fantasize about a future together, and secretly think you would be lucky if you found someone half so intelligent, kind and funny to be your wife._

 _I…umm…_

 _You've tried avoidance, cognitive restructuring, and working yourself to the brink of exhaustion, which has all been completely pointless. Yesterday you spent two hours pacing in the lab, staring at that sweater she left draped over a chair arm and fantasizing about her wearing it and nothing else._

 _Err…that was…a low point, I'll admit._

 _Besides, our component parts have considered the pluses and minuses of a relationship, and calculated that Harry would be at least 50% more productive if Hermione was his girlfriend. Slytherin, back me up here._

 _Leave me out of this,_ grumbled Slytherin. _I also told you we had way too much work to do in the lab to worry about this quest, but no one ever listens to me._

Science continued on. _Now, Hermione has called for you, and it is time we took action. You need to Ask the Question._

 _WHAT?!_ shrieked Ravenclaw. _Not THE Question!_

Ravenclaw paused, expecting agreement, but received only silence.

 _I…kind of agree,_ ventured Hufflepuff. _I mean, it's been awful avoiding her, and if spending time with her draws us closer…then…why don't we just let it happen?_

 _You're kidding...Gryffindor?_

 _Umm, honestly, I'm still kind of stuck on the sweater thing._

 _You know what, fine,_ sighed Slytherin. _If it makes these pointless conversations end, I'm all for it._

 _Yes, now you're talking!_ exclaimed Science. _Now, I'm sure it's occurred to you we're going to be alone with her for a long time, perhaps in dark cramped spaces. So maybe…just maybe…we can act out Dream Sequence #37? You know, the one where—_

There was the patter of footsteps on the stairs, and the sound of Hermione's laughter. Harry's heart pounded as he straightened up, trying and failing to act natural. He tried to remember how he'd planned to greet her, attempting to smile.

As she approached, Harry heard another, deeper laugh joining hers, and then two people rounded the steps. Hermione had tears of mirth in her eyes, gripping Dean's arm to support herself. Dean, in turn, was so focused on making Hermione laugh that he didn't notice Harry.

Hermione stopped when she saw him, her eyes widening.

"Oh, Harry!" said Hermione. "I didn't expect you! You didn't call me, so I thought..." She blinked, then smiled. "Well, now we can all go together! It turns out Dean likes adventuring too, so when I told him about the Quests, he asked to come along."

Dean looked at Harry, the merriment in his eyes fading. The two boys stared at each other for a moment before Dean smiled good-naturedly. "Great, the more the merrier! I'm sure I'll learn a lot from you, Harry. Let's go kill some orcs!"

"Yeah!" cried Hermione.

Harry, his heart at war with itself, didn't say a single thing.

* * *

Author's note: Be careful about time stamps! They'll become important later on.


	40. A Gryffindor Quest

Chapter 40: A Gryffindor Quest

Hermione opened the quest door.

 _Last chance to turn back,_ said Slytherin. _We can make an excuse about needing to complete our research, which is true. If nothing else, ask her to come with you, play up your mad side and pull a Doc Brown._

"Well, don't just stand there," said Hermione, smiling at Harry. "Come on, it's time to go."

She tugged on his arm, and he only resisted a moment before he followed her.

 _You idiot,_ sighed Slytherin. _If the whole point was to confess your feelings, then why bother?_

 _I agree, said Science. We should turn back. This doesn't feel right._

 _What?_ said Hufflepuff. _But you said—_

 _It's different now,_ said Science. _This quest feels like a bad idea. If you're going in, I'm not sure I can keep you_ _safe_ _. But…yeah, you're not going to listen are you? Not even if I told you the roof would cave in._

Harry grit his teeth, silencing the voices. The worst part was, he knew this went against every rational belief he had. He was wilfully acting on an incorrect analysis, and not only was he refusing to update his choice based on better information, he was doing it out of spite. And yet, even if it was a mortal sin against rationality, he _still_ couldn't let Hermione go on this quest without him.

The three of them travelled down the narrow corridor, Hermione sandwiched between Harry and Dean. If it had been him and Hermione it would have been cosy, but with Dean it was awkward and cramped.

"Why is it so dark in here?" Dean asked, squinting.

A few seconds later, Dean's wand illuminated. Harry—who already had his wand out—resisted the petty dig of making his wand light slightly brighter. He might be breaking the rules here, but he still had _standards_.

Entering a cavern, the three of them examined the walls for quest doors. Harry found one, a Slytherin door, and sighed internally. It would be a cold day somewhere very hot before he got to do one of these again.

"Hey guys, I think I found something," said Dean, illuminating a set of stones along the wall.

"That's a doorway," said Hermione. "We have to figure out how to get inside. Usually, we solve a riddle, or find a hidden key."

"Hmm…" Dean stepped back, examining the woodwork. "Strange question, but umm…can I kick it down?"

Hermione blinked. "I've never tried that, but go ahead."

Dean grinned, hopping like a boxer. He slammed his shoulder against the door, then kicked it, shouting "Hiyah!" The door illuminated a bright red.

"Alright, a Gryffindor quest!" shouted Dean, arms raised in triumph.

"Yay!" Hermione cried, and they high fived each other.

Harry just looked at them, then stared forlornly at the Slytherin door.

For some reason, those lights were blinking green too.

"Hey, umm, guys—" Harry started.

But they were already walking inside their quest door, clearly too excited to care. Harry's brain itched with the desire to investigate, but the red door was already closing. With one last glance back, Harry followed them.

* * *

As the quest progressed, Harry was 70% sure that Hermione had been placed in the wrong house. A Ravenclaw's colour was blue, indicating a calm, reflective spirit.

"Mwahahaha!" cried Hermione, using her crossbow to spear another Inferi through the eye. "That's twenty-six for me! Come on, boys, get it together!"

Harry wiped sweat from his forehead, wincing at a spasm of pain in his shoulder. He and Dean were surrounded by a lake of molten lava. While the two mortals were struggling to breathe in the overheated air, Hermione was swinging from her transfigured, glowing rope, sniping at the enemy from above.

"Ha ha! That's twenty-seeeevvven!"

Harry swung at an Inferi approaching their outpost—a short outcropping of rock near the town—and then gasped as the recoil on his hammer further damaged his arm. Dean struggled to dispatch his Inferi with his axe, bringing his count up to nine.

Harry grit his teeth, cast a healing spell, willing his muscles to take the hint already. He'd practiced this skill this for weeks, and yet he was struggling like a novice. He _knew_ it shouldn't be taking this long. _Come on…_

Finally, on the next swing, it didn't hurt. The next, he cracked the Inferi's head open, and on the third he was doing it one handed.

Harry grinned. _There we go._

"Woah," asked Dean, panting. "How'd you…do that?"

Harry swung at another Inferi, its brains splattering all over the ground. "Practice."

"Really?" asked Dean. "Any tips? I'm struggling here, man."

Harry watched as Dean's legs buckled, frantically shoving an Inferi into the lava. Dean stumbled back onto land, wiping the blood off his face, his axe hanging down by his side.

Harry raised his hammer easily, considering what to do. The secret to Harry's success was a melee weapon spell. The cheat wasn't _completely_ broken—you still had to devote some time to practice—but the combat skill transferred much faster to muscle memory than it would normally. Basically, it set mastery from "hard" mode to "easy."

A few months ago, Harry spent four weeks practicing several techniques using this spell—shooting and throwing accuracy, fist fighting, and using blunt force objects. It was agonizing at first, but all that preparation was finally paying off. He assumed the only reason most Wizards didn't learn it was because they fought using wands, but one quick _expelliarmus_ and you were done. Harry figured there was no reason not to be prepared.

However, as his performance today showed, perhaps _gaining_ the ability quickly also meant _losing_ it quickly. He didn't have time to practice every combat skill consistently, and rarely had use for them all, so he reasoned he ought to stick to practicing and mastering one skill, like archery. Shooting arrows with deadeye accuracy while flying sounded both useful and badass.

After considering what to do about Dean, Harry reached down and picked up Dean's axe. "Just stay behind me for now, okay?"

With two weapons, Harry could do twice the damage. Scanning the horizon, Harry found his target. Grinning, Harry hurled the axe at an Inferi that Hermione was aiming for. The weapon smashed its head in, then Harry cast _Accio_ to call it back.

She glowered at him, and he just waved at her. Hermione rolled her eyes and swung away, her frazzled hair streaming in the wind.

When the round was over, Hermione landed on their peninsula—almost an island now—which was surrounded by lava. She'd shed her uniform jacket, and he couldn't help but notice that the sweat made her dress cling to her skin, in what he assumed would be the first of many Dangerous Thoughts.

"What's going on?" asked Hermione. "Why do you have Dean's weapon _and_ yours?"

Harry looked down, trying to find a way to spin this.

"I was flagging and he took over for me," said Dean. "Harry's _insane_ in a fight. I mean, I've seen him duel, but never like that."

"I noticed," said Hermione, giving Harry a once over. "How'd you do it?"

"Practice," repeated Harry, grinning.

She walked up to him, and his grin melted into a kind of fear. She was getting _awfully_ close.

Their eyes met as she examined him. "Is it a spell? A trinket? Let me see."

"Not telling." In response to her glare, he raised his eyebrows. "You know, I don't just munchkin solutions off the top of my head. I spent a lot of time researching this. If you want to know, try and figure it out for yourself."

She smirked. "You know what, I think I will. Spread your cloak, Harry."

Some part of Harry's brain stopped working. Rationally, he knew she wasn't flirting…but he didn't move to stop her when she slipped her hand around the area of his waist. At least, not until he felt a tight rope snagging his right arm.

"Owww!" he cried, as she yanked both the hammer and axe from his hands. She laughed and danced away, while Harry cradled his throbbing arm. "That hurt, Hermione!"

"Oh, relax, the rope will dissolve in an hour or so."

"What!" cried Harry, then swore as he took out his wand to try and fix the mess she'd made of him. Glowing rope laced his wrist, pinning it to his chest. "Hermione, I can't move my arm!"

"Yes, well, this game is too unbalanced," declared Hermione, setting his hammer to the side. "You're a veteran of these quests, but you didn't even bother to help Dean. You just took his weapon and did all his fighting for him."

"So you hobble the best player?" cried Harry. "How is _that_ helpful?"

"We have to slow ourselves down," she said. "I'll admit, I'm guilty of this too. If we're playing at our usual level, the game will rise to match our strengths and leave Dean in the dust."

"Oh no, it's fine!" said Dean, waving his hands. "I'll get the hang of things, you don't have to slow down for me."

Lava collapsed another rock formation as Hermione smiled, holding out the axe for him. "Dean, I know you'll pick things up soon, just let us help you get there."

"Really, it's okay," said Dean, laughing nervously. "I don't care about winning, I just want to kill zombies." She continued her pointed, terribly helpful stare, and his smile faded. "Seriously, Hermione. I can't—"

All of a sudden, a section of dirt under Hermione's feet caved in, creating a molten pothole. She sprang back, and the axe went flying, landing in the lake of lava.

"Oh darn it—" said Hermione.

"Look out!" cried Dean, as a burning Inferi climbed out of the water right next to Hermione. He grabbed the hammer and swung at it, but it dodged and tried to clip him from behind. Another Inferi came out of the lava, wielding the now molten axe.

"So this is level 2," said Harry, drawing out his wand. "Looks like the next wave of Inferi is smarter and fire resistant." Harry fired off a striking hex that barely grazed it. "Not to mention magic resistant. How about that counterspell, Hermione?"

Hermione bit her lip. "Umm, well I never had to use it before, so-"

"Hmm. Are you saying you don't _remember_?" he drawled. "That's a first." Harry pulled out his pouch. He needed a weapon, something he could fire one-handed. He was trying to decide if he was furious with Hermione or a little amused that she thought a one-handed Harry made them all equivalent.

The hordes of Inferi were approaching, growing louder and louder. Hermione raised her bow, firing off shots, and Harry was desperate to get his hands on a weapon of any kind…

All at once, the red soaked world around them disappeared. The darkness cooled them, and then kept growing colder until it felt like they were stuck in a dark freezer. Light returned to the sky in the form of a pale moon, and their sweat soaked bodies shivered in the snow around them.

No…not snow. Harry nudged it with his boot. Shaved ice.

"Where are we? asked Dean, rubbing his arms against the cold.

"No idea," said Harry, shrugging out the kinks in his shoulders. It looked like his arm was unbound, at least.

"Look up there!" cried Hermione, pointing towards the mountain.

Harry looked up to see a cheerful little winter town, complete with a candy cane drawbridge and gingerbread houses.

What in the _what_?

A jingling, blue blob waddled towards them, the tuft of hair on its head bobbing as he moved. Harry assumed it was supposed to be cute, but he couldn't help thinking of science experiments gone wrong. "Oh, hello!" said the blob, his body billowing with each movement. "I can see you are newcomers! Welcome, welcome!"

"Aww!" said Hermione. "Nice to meet you! What's your name?"

"Blueberry," said the blob, with a solemn eye blink. "What's yours?"

Hermione and Dean introduced themselves, and Harry gave the blob his pseudonym. "My name is Bill." Hermione raised her eyebrows, but he just shrugged. The power of knowing someone's name in the magical world was mind boggling. It made it ten times easier to hex someone. Perhaps he was being paranoid, but if he was going down, it wouldn't be because a piece of misshapen fruit got the jump on him.

After they'd all introduced themselves, Hermione sneezed, and the creature gasped.

"Oh dear, you must be so cold," cried Blueberry, his high voice rising to a squeak. "I will take you to get new clothing too!"

* * *

Shopping at the "Candy Crush Boutique" took Harry less than 5 minutes. All of the clothes were neatly laid out on labelled shelves, and it was easy to find the correct size and style that was needed. Harry chose wool clothing that would keep him warm and comfortable, with layers to shed in case they faced lava again. It didn't cost him anything except a compliment to the store clerk (the marvel of game economics), and then he was given a free hot cocoa.

In Harry's opinion, that concluded shopping time. The store was quaint but wasn't worth hanging around in. However, his team mates didn't seem in a rush to leave, especially after they discovered the shop's Holiday Costume Section. Even though Harry explained that they wouldn't be able to keep the items out of game, that didn't stop Dean and Hermione from trying on absolutely everything.

Dean stepped out of the changing room, posing in a reindeer costume, complete with horns. "What's the verdict, amigos?"

"Ooohh, you look dashing!" Hermione said.

"Ehh, I think I look more like Comet. Or Cupid."

Hermione grinned. "Well, you do make those antlers look handsome."

 _Wham!_

"Hermione, try the carrot costume," said Dean.

Harry cast a Death Glare at Dean, but Hermione just laughed and went to change. When she emerged, she was orange from head to toe.

"Ha ha, I look like a lumpy pencil!"

She looked from both Dean to Harry for confirmation. Before Harry could think of something to say, Dean commented, "Well, I think you're a sight for sore eyes. You know, because carrots have Vitamin A…never mind."

Hermione giggled—what was with all the _laughing—_ and shook her head. "Silly."

 _Wham!_

"Harry," said Hermione, sifting through the rack. "Want to try on—"

He shook his head. "I'm fine with what I'm wearing. Excuse me."

Swallowing a lump in his throat, Harry took his cocoa to wait outside.

 _It's okay,_ his Hufflepuff side reassured him. _It won't lose you that many friendship points for not playing dress up. They'll lose interest and come out soon._

Harry watched his cocoa cooling in his hands, thinking dark thoughts.

 _No, stop that. She's not replacing you._

Harry conceded that this might be true, but it still hurt to be in the same room with them. It was like watching two kittens discovering catnip for the first time, and he was just a dog that couldn't join in.

Not that this was the first time it had happened—not "fitting in" was a frequent occurrence for him. He just hadn't really _wished_ he could until now.

Harry sighed, tapping his finger along the cocoa cup. He hated the way he was feeling right now, the incessant jealous thoughts. He was familiar enough with his own mental processes to know it would only get worse if he prolonged the stimulus. It would be better to wait out here.

While he waited, Harry observed the gingerbread houses around them, each decorated in incredible detail with frosting, gumdrops and peppermints in a variety of colours. In the town centre, vibrant fiddle music played as the little blob oranges and grapefruits danced in concentric circles, like some starving child's fever dream.

Leaning against a gingerbread wall, Harry wondered how they'd gotten dropped into Winter Wonderland in the first place. He'd seen glitches in the game before, but he'd never seen a quest completely change course _in the middle_. It was like the game master tipped the board and decided to start over.

This brought up the question, once again, of what kind of magic created this world and maintained it. As flurries drifted through the air, Harry observed the incredibly detailed panorama around him.

It was said that a blade of grass contained thousands of different molecules, each one perfectly shaped to perform a function. Each snowflake was said to be a unique combination of crystals, so that none was just like another.

The Hogwarts quests regularly created thousands of worlds—filled with incredible detail that made them indistinguishable from Earth—and then collapsed them within a couple of hours. From Harry's experience, that kind of magical effect was not just unusual, but almost impossible to create.

Magic was incredibly useful and interesting, but it was not powerful, at least in the sense that it was not exploitable. Harry could not take the spell " _Aguamenti_ ," for instance, and modify it to create a self-sustaining hydro-electric dam. Neither could he use the space modifying spells on his trunk to create a pocket universe. In fact, as his experiments showed, magic routinely refused to do anything besides what it was originally designed to do, which usually was a quite mundane task.

In fact, Harry knew of only two ways to reliably have access to powerful magic. Either you needed an ancient artefact with power imbued inside it, and those were extremely hard to come by. Or you needed to perform a ritual, the majority of which were quite dark. And, since Harry didn't see anyone sacrificing virgins here, he reasoned that this quests' source of power was probably an artefact.

Harry captured a snowflake on his fingertip, examining it.

He wished he could figure out what this artefact was. He reasoned it was either a giant transfiguration generator, or it tapped into some kind of reality manipulation. In either case, it would be extremely useful to find, and not just for ready made rockets. What if it could create pocket universes? What if it could fold space and time?

In the beginning, he'd made an effort to search for it. Once, he attempted to walk to the edge of a world map, hoping it would lead him to where the game universe unravelled, and he was deposited in a hallway in Hogwarts for his trouble.

The artefact could be Hogwarts itself, of course. It was ancient, and full of magic that created rooms, and moved staircases, and had secret hidden passageways.

But then again…

Sometimes, Harry wondered if there was a win condition. If you played the quests enough, could you unlock this artefact for yourself? Would the quest masters decide that you'd "won" and hand over their highest prize?

And if not…then what was the real point of these quests? Did ancient wizards place this giant transfiguration generator in Hogwarts—more powerful than anything he'd ever seen or heard of—just so that kids could play games? It seemed impractical, even for wizards. Like driving a Formula 1 race car on a roller rink.

But it was funny, how easy it was to forget how astounding this game world was after getting used to it. Such as right now, when he was feeling somewhat annoyed that the Quest Masters got rid of his perfectly good dungeon crawl and replaced it with Candy Land.

Harry glanced at the shop's window, hearing laughter within. He really would have liked to discuss his theories with Hermione, but didn't think that was an option when Dean was around. He needed a distraction, something that would get the quest back on track.

 _Where's a fire-breathing dragon when you need one?_ asked Gryffindor.

 _Actually, I was thinking about mountains,_ said Slytherin. _And how there are lots of ways to fall off them._

His brain was silent for a moment, trying to process what was wrong with him.

Harry sensed the world flicker, as if the entire earth shifted off balance, the force pulling him with it. His cocoa tumbled into the snow as he slammed against the wall, his fingers digging into the gingerbread. Around him, the sound of merriment continued, laughter and singing.

Letting out a slow breath, Harry pulled away from the wall, brushing crumbs from his hair. While he'd been falling off a roller coaster, none of the dancing fruit creatures had even missed a step.

The cheerful music was interrupted by a distant roar that sounded to Harry like a dragon. The blobs screamed and scattered to find shelter as a dark shadow passed over the nearby mountain. Harry stared at the sky, watching exactly what he wished for unfolding before his eyes.

 _What in the hell is going on?_

* * *

There was something absolutely magical about Candy Town.

Hermione skipped through the store, stopping to smell a candle. It wasn't just that everything there was ridiculously cute, or that the villagers waddled around like adorable ducklings, or the fact that the air smelled like vanilla and cinnamon rolls. No, it was because it was a place where love and kindness mattered more than money, competition, or appearance. It was the sort of utopia that only existed in fairy tales, and that humanity would never hope to reach without a serious mental overhaul.

Not that the amazing clothes weren't a plus, though.

Dean stepped out of the dressing room wearing a giant cloud costume. "Ahh." He stroked the puffy sleeves. "I am so full of," he gave her a look, "mist-ery."

She rolled her eyes. "Stop it."

He chuckled and leaned against the clothing rack, watching her search through it. "What are you looking for?"

"Something for you." She took a hanger off, examined it quickly, placed it back on the rack. "I saw this purple leather jumper with a dinosaur head that I just _need_ to take a picture of you wearing."

"I…don't know what to say to that," said Dean, eyeing her. "But I'm only wearing it if you try on the leather cat suit."

She snorted. "I think I've ate one too many sundaes to make that outfit look good."

"Hmm." He studied her. "That's a matter of opinion, I think. I happen to like thick girls." He grinned. "As Freddy Mercury would say, they make the world go round."

Hermione frowned, unsure what he meant until Dean started singing, "Ohhhh, you gonna take me home tonight…"

She punched his arm, and he laughed. "Sorry," he said. "Cat suit or not, you're gorgeous. Let's go get changed."

Blushing, Hermione went to go put on the first outfit that she grabbed. As she got changed, she wondered if Dean actually thought she was pretty, or if he was just teasing her. Boys did that sometimes, she suspected they liked to make her blush. If he _was_ flirting then, well…she wasn't sure how she felt about that.

Briefly, she imagined what Harry would have said to her instead, if she'd called herself fat. He'd probably just ignore it completely, or say something along the lines of, "You look fine, BMI only really affects your health if you're over 30% adiposity anyway. Pass me that book, will you?"

Hermione smiled sadly, shrugging on her sleeves. She hadn't seen much of him lately, and all day long he'd been quiet and distant. She'd hoped if he joined her on the quest, he would at _least_ talk to her. But it had been like that between them since Christmas, and she was beginning to wonder if this was just their new normal.

As she slipped on the dress, the collar snagged against her cat necklace, the one Harry gave her. She rubbed the smooth metal against her fingers, feeling a knot in her chest. The necklace reminded her of Crookshanks, and she'd thought that's why she'd taken to wearing it every day…but why did looking at it now make her want to cry?

Hermione winced as a sudden pain spiked in her forehead, then came a rush of dizziness. She groaned and slumped down on a wooden bench, massaging her temples, but the pain kept getting worse. She tried a few magical pain reduction charms, but they weren't helping, either.

She heard a distant roar, followed by the screams of the townspeople. Ignoring the jackhammer behind her eyes, she struggled into the wool dress, grabbing the nearest jacket and running out of the stall.

Behind the counter, Hermione saw the shopkeeper, huddling on the floor and quivering. Dean hovered outside the changing booths, while Harry ran into the doorway, eyes scanning until they locked on Hermione.

Blueberry ran through Harry's legs, his feet tracking snow onto the wooden floor.

"Sorry, Mr. Bill! Hermione and Dean, you must go, you must go!"

His little hand tugged on Hermione's, attempting to drag her to the doorway.

"Stop, please." She planted her feet. "What's going on?"

Blueberry quivered violently, his hand squeezing hers. "There is a hidden evil in this town of which we do not speak." He averted his eyes. "It is my fault. I knew this would happen when I brought you."

Hermione pressed the heel of her palm against her temple, her head still pounding. She glanced up at Harry, who was observing the creature with his arms folded. His eyes met hers, and his expression shifted to one of concern.

"Once every month," whispered Blueberry. "It takes a sacrifice from our village, carries it away to the mountain." Blueberry squeezed his eyes shut. "We…we never see them again! I don't want anyone else to die!"

"No one's going to die," declared Harry. He took a step forwards and touched her arm, whispering softly. "Are you okay?"

It said something about how desperate she was for his attention that her heart did a few backflips. Even so, she shrugged it off, declining his help. As soon as it had come, the headache was gone. It was strange, but there was no time to think of it now. Blueberry quivered against her leg, more shaken up than before.

"Where is the beast?" asked Dean.

"Why do you want to know?" asked the shopkeeper, peeking out from behind the counter. "Do you wish to challenge him?"

"No, you must not!" cried Blueberry, his tiny hands gripping Hermione's skirt. "He is too strong and too evil to defeat! You must hide with us, come!" Blueberry unsuccessfully tried to pull Hermione behind the counter.

"Am I correct in thinking this creature is a dragon?" asked Harry. He'd returned to the door, casting cautious glances outside. "How long has it been terrorizing the village? What defences do you have in place?" He must have been thinking the same thing Hermione was—the town didn't _look_ like it suffered from regular aerial assaults.

"We don't have any," said the shopkeeper. "Only adventurers brave enough to try to stop him. They always come, right before _he_ does, but…they never survive."

"I see," said Harry. "Well, then. Tell us every detail you can about this creature, and show us to the local blacksmith or potion maker for weapons, if there is one."

The shopkeeper shook his head. "It is said that the brave must face him with nothing but their courage."

"Why?" asked Harry.

The shopkeeper shrugged. "That is the way it is. I'm sorry I cannot tell you more."

"Hmm," said Harry. "So it's either a riddle, or a very silly rule that an enterprising young Ravenclaw is about to challenge. In any case, we're done here. Come on, friends, let's go search the rest of the town for supplies and wise old clerics."

Hermione spoke gently to the shivering Blueberry. "What do you think would help us win?"

Sniffling, Blueberry turned his tear stained eyes to Hermione. "If you must go, then remember to use the power inside you." He pressed a tiny hand to her chest. "Believe in yourself, in the power of friendship and love. It is the greatest gift you have. Together, if you have faith, you and your friends may have the strength to destroy the evil beast once and for all."

The beast roared again, which saved Hermione from having to come up with a response. She believed in the power of love as much as the next person, but _there were limits_.

As they passed out of the shop, Hermione stumbled just a little, and two hands shot out to catch her. Dean and Harry, one on either side. She looked from one to the other in gratitude, but found they were both glaring at each other.

* * *

Dean had always had a way with words. He was able to pinpoint a person's strengths, draw them out, and help people grow to be the best they could be. Even, sometimes, when he had to drag them to it kicking and screaming.

But that gift was a double edged sword. As easy as it was to build someone up, it was just as easy to tear them down. Especially when that person was getting on his last nerve.

As soon as they'd left the clothing shop, the three of them gathered the necessary equipment to slay a dragon. Dean even found a weapon, a giant black mallet appropriately named "Hammer of Liquorice." As they climbed the mountain, they came across several intriguing challenges which would have been fun to solve, if Harry hadn't insisted on acting like a complete tool.

Their first quest required them to cross a vast bridge over a mountain pass. The gate keeper informed them that their fee was to gather several precious gems that had been lost in nearby caves. As they turned back, Dean was just about to transfigure a pickaxe when Harry spoke up.

"That's a waste of time. I'll just fly everyone over. We have a dragon to slay before the game ends, and that takes precedence over other side quests."

"But…" Dean turned back to the old gatekeeper. "The stones could be important later on."

Harry shrugged. "I doubt it, but if it turns out I'm wrong, I'll fly back and collect them myself."

Hermione seemed as disappointed as Dean, but she sided with Harry. "We do have to be back in a few hours for dinner."

As they travelled up the mountain, they faced skirmishes with the mountain monsters: snow beasts and rock creatures. Dean charged forwards with his Hammer of Liquorice, attacking with gusto, but a few battles in, his enemies started falling over before he hit them.

"What the—" Dean turned, and saw Harry lowering his wand. "What was that for?"

"We're wizards," said Harry, pointedly. "We don't need to beat up the creatures, we just need to stun them. Let's go."

"The hammer doesn't _hurt_ them," said Dean, holding aloft his weapon. "It's just knocking them out! Besides, I thought the point of the game was to defeat enemies?"

"Yes, but _Somnium_ is more efficient," said Harry. "Or did you learn nothing from Professor Quirrell?"

"Harry, please," said Hermione, rolling her eyes. "Let's go."

Harry said nothing to that, which for some reason ticked Dean off even more. But he pushed it aside, deciding it wasn't worth starting a fight over.

They climbed relentlessly towards the mountain top. The wind grew fierce as the temperature plummeted, but Dean and Hermione told stories to pass the time. Hermione's voice was broken by fits of laughter, and his heart skipped a beat, wishing he could be alone with her. He wanted to tease and play with her, to see if she was someone he could really fall for.

Meanwhile, Harry kept up the rear, glowering the entire way. With Harry's dark cloak and hood, it was like watching the grim reaper trailing behind them, grimacing like he smelled something bad. This would have been funny, except for the chills Dean was getting from the glare in Harry's eyes.

The three of them reached a cliff edge, pausing to admire the scenic view of the winter wonderland. Nearby, beside a mountain pass, they found a wooden sign that said, "The Monster's Lair."

Dean drew everyone into a huddle. "Before we go in, let's make a plan. I don't mind being the muscle and taking hits, if you'll be the healer, Hermione."

Hermione bit her lip, thinking over his offer. She was just about to respond when Harry cut in. "Logically speaking, you should be the healer, Dean. Hermione is more durable and has more experience in combat. I'll be the range hitter, attacking the monster from the air."

Dean raised his hammer. "How am I supposed to use this if I'm a healer?"

"Don't. That weapon is stupid."

Dean took a breath in and let it out. "Alright, what is your deal? Do you have a problem with me?"

"Not at all," Harry's voice was a drawl. "Just your gameplay. The quest rewards us based on our demonstrated performance, both with greater challenge and better prizes. You might not have enough _experience_ to realise this, but the level of challenge in this game has been non-existent. A five year old could make it through unharmed. Aside from being extremely boring, it means our quest prize is likely to be somewhere along the rarity of a pack of popsicles. Three guesses as to why you think that is, Dean."

"Sweet Merlin, is the quest prize _really_ that important to you?" Dean demanded, hackles raised. "Or do you just need control of absolutely everything?"

"Of course not," said Harry. "I would let somebody _capable_ be in charge. But if we'd followed your plans, we'd still be collecting rocks at the bottom often the mountain."

"Harry—" cut in Hermione.

"I've been patient up to now," Harry continued. "But it's extremely important that we do well in this final battle. You've said you can keep pace with us, so do it. Stop making us pick up your slack."

Dean looked at Harry beside Hermione, glaring at him with that know-it-all mockery while she looked on, and he just snapped.

"You know, I'm getting really tired of your attitude." He folded his arms. "You avoid everyone for weeks, don't even bother to explain why, and then show up and expect Hermione and I to follow your orders. The only person you _don't_ act like you're better than is Hermione, so of course it rankles you that she'd spend time with me. And yet, she _prefers_ my company to your sorry ass. So, next time, why don't you do us both a favour and stay holed up in whatever closet you're wanking off in?"

"Dean—"

"How typical." Harry's voice had gone cold, his smile vanished. "Hermione's a brilliant, competent witch, and all you see is an attractive female you want to conquer. Oh, I bet you had all these plans about how you would get Hermione alone, make her to giggle and blush and pull up her skirt." Hermione gasped and grabbed Harry's arm, but he wouldn't shut up. "Really, it's almost sad that you assume she's interested, since she thinks you need a _handicap_ to win this game. And if you knew Hermione better, you'd know she only laughs at your jokes because she's too kind _not_ to give you pity laughter. So why don't you go find a ditzy bint to bury your dick in so you can soothe your fragile ego?"

Dean saw red, and he yelled in Harry's face. "Why would Hermione want a psychopathic nutjob? I bet you jerk off to thoughts of hurting her, you sick fu-"

Harry fired off a curse, and Dean dodged, flinging back one of his own. Hermione was shouting at them to stop, but Dean couldn't, not when Harry was smirking at him like that. When the disarming spell knocked the wand out of Dean's hand, he ran full tilt and pummelled into Harry, wrenching his wand away through brute force. Harry swung, and Dean dodged, but the next hit connected with Dean's stomach. He coughed as Harry punched him again, feeling something breaking. Another hit, and it shattered.

This was _bad_. How the hell was Harry so strong? He needed to get away, but Harry's arm wrapped around Dean's neck and took him to the ground, kicking and punching in a total free for all.

"Stop!" cried Hermione. "You're going to kill yourselves!"

Dean felt the solid earth beneath his head give way to open air. He jerked himself back, but Harry's weight shoved him further towards the abyss. Panic seized him with the knowledge they were about to _die,_ when firm hands gripped them both and pulled them back to safety.

Dean fell into the snow, savouring the first few moments of solid ground, when he heard Hermione scream. "That is enough! You two are idiots, both of you! I ought to tie you up and feed you to the dragon!"

"Hermione—" Harry began.

"You!" she cried, pointing at him. "I don't even want to hear it! What is wrong with you! Why were you rolling to the cliff, were you _trying_ to kill Dean?"

"No!" cried Harry, coughing. "I wouldn't—I didn't _know_ —"

"Shut up!" she cried. "I don't want to hear your excuses. You _promised_ me you wouldn't do this again, Harry! You swore up and down, but if I hadn't been here to stop you—if I hadn't-"

She shoved him in the chest, hard. Harry just took it, too stunned to move.

"Sometimes, you just…" She faltered, her eyes tearing up. "You _scare_ me, Harry. It makes me feel like I can't…I can't trust you. Not really."

There was a moment of silence where the only sound was the wind. Dean watched as Hermione hugged herself, turning to walk away from everyone. Harry stood rooted in place, staring at her like she'd just stabbed him.

There was a long, long wait of just staring in silence, as there wasn't much to be said or done. Dean coughed, sending sharp pains shooting through his chest, and he realized with a groan just how badly he was injured. Broken ribs, at least, if not something worse.

But before he could ask for help, Harry was already beside him, wand drawn. " _Leigheas briste_."

Within seconds, breathing no longer hurt. Surprised, Dean turned to say something, but Harry was already walking away.

Dean swallowed, feeling an awful weight in his stomach. How did everything get so messed up? He stood, realizing he had to do something to fix this, even if it was something he didn't want to do.

"Harry. Hermione," said Dean, waiting a moment for her to turn her eyes to him. "I really screwed up. I let my anger get the best of me, and it was wrong. I'm sorry." He turned to Harry. "I hope you both can forgive me."

Harry didn't say anything for a moment, and then he mumbled. "Sorry."

Hermione took in a shaking breath, as if on the verge of tears.

"Is there a way to end the game?" asked Dean. "Do we just call out, 'I quit?'"

"Well, let's see," said Hermione. Her voice rang out as almost a screech. "I quit!" The sound echoed across the mountains, but was met only by the sighing of the wind. She shrugged, her tone dully sarcastic. "I thought not. Anyway, the quest will force an ending in about an hour or so, if you think you boys can keep from killing each other for that long?"

Harry stared at the mountain cliff in dejected silence, and Dean rubbed the back of his head. He was a little afraid to talk, but no one was _saying_ anything, so…

"Do we just…enter the cave?" After a long moment, Hermione shrugged, and he took that as implied consent. "Umm…well, I guess…whenever you're ready, we'll go in."

A few minutes later, they did.


	41. String Theory

Chapter 41: String Theory

Harry felt like the cold had seeped into his brain, freezing it on a running loop of his fight with Dean. He felt numb, like his head was stuffed with cotton. Wand light glinted off the walls up ahead as Harry trudged through the cave. His eyes glanced ahead at Hermione, who was walking with Dean, each step taking them further apart.

 _I'm sorry, Hermione._

He still didn't know how it had happened. One minute, he'd been quietly seething with anger, and the next he'd been punching Dean until there was blood in the snow.

 _The important question,_ Science said, _is how this relates to your romantic inclinations._

Harry's inner voices remained silent.

 _Are you finally willing to admit that you have real feelings for Hermione Granger, and that repressing them has dangerous—even violent—consequences?_

 _That's not the issue here,_ thought Harry.

 _You just beat up a love rival! That's—like—in every romantic movie ever! Can you stop running and face this head on? What are you so afraid of?_

Harry's hands balled into fists, and he stopped short.

 _Sometimes, you…scare me, Harry._

He could still see the hurt and anger in her eyes, still felt the punch in his gut. Over and over, his mind replayed the fight, but there was something really _wrong_ about the replay.

He saw Dean falling off the cliff. He distinctly remembered it, the sight of Dean's shocked face as he tumbled over the edge. It was strange how the terrible moment only lasted a couple seconds. One second Dean existed, and the next he didn't.

When Hermione had pulled them from the edge, Harry had already been scrambling forwards to catch Dean. But then he'd seen Dean was safe, and he'd exhaled in shock, recalling something about the malleability of memory in crisis situations just as Hermione started screaming at him.

Harry worried his lip. There was something wrong with _that_ memory too.

He could remember reaching for Dean, attempting to save him. But he also remembered letting him fall.

It happened just as Dean was slipping over the edge, reaching out for safety. In that raw, cold moment, Harry thought, _If you die, I'll never have to share Hermione with anyone. She will turn to me for comfort, and me alone._

As Dean's shocked face tumbled below the cliff, Harry realized his mistake. He reached for Dean, but he was already falling so fast…

Harry breathed out a shaky breath. If he hadn't been on the path to light before, this was a Herculean shove in that direction. He didn't know if he would ever forget that terrible feeling of complete and utter helplessness when he saw his friend die for no reason.

He vaguely wondered, if that happened, if he'd ever be able to cast a Patronus again.

But the worst part was, Harry no longer felt he knew who he was. Harry had _thought_ he was starting to overcome his temper, that rationality had won him some self-control, but obviously he had vastly overestimated his progress. Maybe he was doing that _again_ now, and next time he was angry, he wouldn't be able to stop himself…

 _Hermione doesn't trust me._

Some frantic part of him cast about for a way to fix it, to make her believe in him again.

 _Is she right not to?_

Up ahead, Harry spied a flash of brightness, and knew that they were getting close to the monster's lair. Hermione and Dean stopped walking, waiting for Harry to catch up. When he did, Harry asked, "So…what's our plan?"

Hermione brushed a bit of her curls behind her ear. It didn't help, they were still frizzy, and even in his fractured mental state Harry couldn't help thinking they were beautiful. "We can't see into the cave, and our spells aren't revealing anything inside. I'm going to cast invisibility on myself and enter the room to do some reconnaissance. If the monster sees me and attacks, I'll be counting on both of you to help cover me. If he doesn't attack, then I plan to talk to the monster before we resort to violence." Her eyes lowered. "What…umm…do you think, Harry?"

He froze, studying her face. She bit her lip, as if nervous to have asked, and said with quiet honesty. "I thought you might have some good ideas."

Her gentle gaze met his, inviting his reply.

And there it was, a glimmer of hope.

Hermione might not trust him, not yet. But she still cared for him, still saw worth in him. He would _make_ himself worthy of her trust.

"That seems—" His voice came out too high, and he cleared his throat. "That seems sensible to me. I can do some additional testing for magical traps and concealment spells as well."

She smiled, hesitant but warm. "That would be helpful. We don't know what to expect in there."

"In that case, I'll be thorough in my search," said Harry, drawing his wand. "If there's anything even remotely dangerous in that cave, I'll find it."

They walked to the entrance, all three of them together. He found his eyes drawn to Hermione, his mind already planning out the next steps for the "Zen Harry" program. He imagined her beaming at him, after he turned his cheek while people antagonized and belittled him. He wouldn't even be mad, might even send the bullies a few thank you cards.

But even as he thought this, he realized it wasn't enough. This time, he needed to go further than learning to lose. His mental state needed a complete paradigm shift, and he needed to do it to save _himself,_ not just to make Hermione proud.

They stopped at a corner close to the entrance. Harry and Dean cast a tracker spell on her, marking her location, then Hermione cast invisibility. Her mastery of the invisibility spell was not perfect—she shimmered in and out—and after a few tries, she asked Harry to cast it. She watched his hand movements carefully, already studying how to do it for herself.

Before she left to investigate, they did a final scan of the room. Harry checked for traps, feeling out for the room's secrets, finding it surprisingly easy to examine every ward, just like in Hogwarts.

"So the good news is, there's no traps," said Harry, frowning. "The bad news is, this is a cavern full of dragon treasure, so there really should be. Either a ward I need to break, or an anvil set to drop on our heads. So, either I'm missing something, or…"

He trailed off.

"…this final fight is too easy?" finished Dean.

"Basically," said Harry, avoiding Dean's gaze. It wasn't like Harry cared anymore about the challenge level, but it still felt rude to mention it. There was no _conclusive_ proof it was Dean's fault, but McGonagall had warned that the quests would change based on the players involved. While Harry and Hermione weren't impressed by this Gryffindor quest, it seemed to be right up Dean's alley…

No, that wasn't quite right. _Hermione_ enjoyed it too, didn't she? He thought of Hermione dancing around the store, searching for clothes, and it gave him an uncomfortable realization. Harry's quests with her were fun, but most of the time she was tired or focused on beating the game. He could count on one hand the number of times she was relaxed enough to enjoy herself.

Harry looked at Dean, standing at the mouth of the cave, re-checking for traps, which was a sensible idea. Hermione stood beside him, close enough to whisper in his ear.

He stubbornly willed his jealousy away, focusing all his energy on the mission.

"You're right," said Dean, lowering his wand. "I can't detect any wards or traps, either. What should we do? Just walk in?"

"I can't think of any reason to delay," said Harry, checking his watch. Thirty minutes until dinner. Normally, he could be sure the game would end on time, but now…he wasn't so sure.

"Random question," said Harry. "Before the game shifted before, did either of you wish to fight a dragon? Or maybe, before we arrived in Candy Mountain, were you feeling a craving for sweets?"

Dean—meeting Harry's eyes for the first time since the fight—shook his head. Hermione, as if she didn't hear, frowned into the cavern.

"Something about this room is strange," murmured Hermione. "It's like everything is set up for a —"

The cave went dark. Harry feared this was yet _another_ game shift, but then he saw spotlights, and heard the sound of a screaming crowd. A spotted rhino entered, leaping onto a stage made from hewn rock. Gripping a microphone, he shouted, "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Monster's Lair! Let's get ready to rumbbleeee!"

* * *

Hermione watched the announcer hyping up the crowd, tapping her foot in irritation.

For one thing, she felt duped. What happened to the winter wonderland theme? She'd been holding out hope for a grand finale with a misunderstood monster, or at least an epic battle with an actual dragon and not _this_ nonsense.

The announcer brought some orangutans to do a warm up fight, wearing nothing but red underpants.

Oh, _come on._

She wasn't a fan of wrestling. Even with her troll powers giving her a boost, it still wasn't _fun_.

But she was _especially_ not a fan of wrestling when it came to these two idiots beside her. She'd already seen them tackle each other once today, and she really didn't want to watch a rematch.

She couldn't help but notice that both of them were standing at opposite sides of the cave opening, as far apart as they could get. Hermione sighed. She didn't know yet if they'd be fighting each other, but she supposed if they did, she'd have to choose one of the boys as her opponent. So who did she prefer to wrestle with? And would they have to strip down into—

 _Stopstopstopstopstop_ said her brain, but it just kept going on without her.

 _If we're going for looks, let's be honest, Dean is a Quidditch Chaser, so he's got the abs._

 _I know, but Harry did say he wanted to crush you against a wall that one time, and I've been wondering what that would be like—_

"So my theory," said Harry, mercifully breaking her out of her reverie. "Is that the game is shifting based on our perceived interests, like an AI run amok. Just to confirm, does anyone here like wrestling?"

"Not me," blurted Hermione, who could feel her blush warming her cheeks.

"Me neither," said Harry. "Dean?"

He shrugged. "I've watched a few matches with my brother. But it's not my _favourite_ thing in the world, and besides, it seems more likely the game is taking cues from our brawl outside the cave."

"That was my second theory," said Harry. "Anyway, if we can convince the game we want something to happen, it just might give us an advantage."

"Maybe," said Dean uncertainly.

Harry sighed. "I can tell you don't approve of this plan, Dean, and I'd rather you said why than silently disagree. If you can't criticize, then you can't optimize."

"Well umm…I just don't see what would be the point? Thoughts aren't so easily controlled, and if we spend all our time on that, we won't be thinking of a way to win _this_ round. And our turn might be up soon, from the looks of things."

As he spoke, one of the contestants got body slammed, to the cheers and booing of the crowd. Harry set his jaw, then shrugged. "Fair point. I'll keep thinking."

Hermione glanced up at Dean, realizing he _was_ rather intelligent in his own way. While Harry could think his way out of anything, Dean came up with solutions by testing and doing, which usually meant getting things wrong a couple thousand times. He never stopped trying, though, and there was something charmingly Gryffindor about that. She was starting to really see him as a good friend, someone she would like to keep around.

He wasn't hard on the eyes either, but…she was cautious about going there, mentally. After all…

She turned to Harry, who watched the match with his arms folded, his expression calculating. Always thinking, this boy. Just…not about her. Except to imagine some other guy's hand going up her skirt, what the heck was _that_ about-

 _Romantic jealousy?_ Her heart squeezed with pain at the thought, and she forcibly shoved the idea away. Hermione wasn't sure what he felt for her, but she did know one thing. Whenever Harry got jealous, she didn't end up closer to him. She just ended up getting hurt.

Hermione heard cheering, and one of the orangutans on stage raised his furry arms, howling triumphantly. The match was over.

And now, she bet the announcer would call one of them into the ring. Great.

The losing contestant was thrown off the stage, into a spotlight near their tunnel. The audience threw things, booing him, while others began chanting a name. _Mar-qwa! Mar-qwa!_

A huge pterodactyl swung down, screeching, and snapped the orangutan into his mouth. The spotlight showed blood dripping from his jaws.

"So!" cried the announcer. "Who wants to prove themselves as the next champion in round 2?!"

* * *

 _Well. That was...err...unexpected._

Harry watched as the creature chewed and swallowed, listened while the crowd (animals? people? a soundtrack?) screamed with rage in the background. Hermione shrieked, a hand flying to her mouth. Harry, feeling a compulsion to do something for her, touched her shoulder. He realized, as he did, that there was blood spray on the back of his hand.

As his eyes strayed unwillingly to bits of the carnage, his brain recalculated all his plans, inserting "carnivorous pterodactyl" in place of "unknown punishment." He quietly cast _Somnium_ and _Pertrificus Totalis_ on the carnivore, but it didn't seem to notice or care. So, magic resistance, then.

It wasn't like he hadn't faced giant beasts before in-game, but usually he had some type of advantage. A weapon, a shield, and some form of illumination. But after the creature retreated, it was completely hidden in the cave's darkness. Harry cast a few sight enhancement spells, and now he only saw a vague, dim outline.

Harry racked his brain for more ideas, when the Spell of Power popped into his head. He could still remember the incantation, it was simple, he could easily…But no, it hadn't worked the first time, and he wasn't stupid enough to experiment with that when people were relying on him.

"Ladies and gentlemen, let me remind you of the prize. If you win in this round, you will be summoned by the Great Beast! He will reward the champions beyond their wildest dreams!"

The audience cheered. Harry considered that their definition of "rewarded" might be different than his, as their definition of "losing" was turning into a snack.

"And now, I ask you, who would like to be our next champion?"

Harry didn't have a fully formed plan, though part of it included Harry clobbering a dinosaur, then taking out the pterodactyl using Hermione's speed ability and some well placed traps. He was still thinking, weighing it against an internal clock that grew steadily louder the longer he took to decide, when Dean raised his hand. "I'll do it."

 _No!_

Hermione grabbed Dean's arm. "What are you doing?" she hissed.

"Buying you time," said Dean, giving a soft shrug. "I've got the muscle and you've got the brains, so I'll hold off the next contender until you both come up with a plan."

 _Oh, bloody hell, I can't let him—no. Control it._

The crowd was going wild as two dinosaurs came lumbering towards them. Hermione squeezed his arm. "Dean, you idiot."

He grinned. "Hey, chances are I'm going to win anyway, right?"

The t-rexes took Dean, walking behind him as he entered into the ring. Dean made a show of it too, pumping his fists like he was a heavyweight champ coming back for a rematch.

Hermione pressed her hand into Harry's, squeezing hard enough to hurt. He didn't make her move it.

Instead, Harry came to a realization.

"Hermione," he said. "I know how we can get Dean out of there alive."

* * *

Dean stared off into the invisible crowd, smiling broadly and waving his arms. He jabbed the air, listening to the screams swell and the announcer's voice booming as he introduced the contestants.

He was not sure he could pull this off. But if he was going down, then he was going down swinging.

Dean turned to the opposite corner of the roped ring, where his opponent waited. The velociraptor he was fighting looked a lot more destructive and terrifying close up, now that he could see his yellow eyes, scaly skin, and huge, jagged teeth.

Dean started to sweat under the spotlights. He really hadn't thought this out. Why had he raised his hand, again? Because he thought he was tough enough to punch monsters?

Well, it was more like Dean knew if he _didn't_ do this, then he wouldn't be useful at all. Harry and Hermione would save the day without him. Probably still would, even if he failed miserably.

Dean shook his head, forcing away the sense of doom. Everything would be fine. If he got a few teeth knocked out, he was pretty sure there was a spell to fix that. He imagined finding Padma and telling her, "So guess what, I punched a dinosaur." She'd call him a fool, but secretly she'd be impressed, and maybe he'd even win a smile.

Dean spotted a bright light in his peripheral vision, like the flash of a camera. As soon as he turned to look, his vision flickered, like a giant skip in a record. He stepped back, confused, and turned to see the monster lunging towards him.

 _Oh, shit._

Dean ducked, but the swing never came. Instead, it kicked him square in the gut.

He was thrown back against the ring, collapsing all the air out of his lungs.

"Ooooh, another hit as the champion gears up for his next lunge."

Dean looked up as the dinosaur roared and thundered towards him.

"Incarcerous!" cried Dean, forgetting that he didn't have his wand. The dinosaur barrelled into him, his tail knocking him clear across the ring.

 _Not good, not good,_ thought Dean, as the dinosaur backed up for another hit.

All of a sudden, his vision went double, and Dean felt like the world was spinning, as if someone left the VHS of his life on fast forward.

When he could see straight again, the champion was no longer on the stage, and Dean was hauled to his feet.

"What do you think, everyone? Is our Great Beast still hungry?"

Resounding cries and screams came from the audience, and two guards shoved him forwards.

Another flash of light appeared, flittering about in the darkness like fireflies. Dean recognized it as the Avis charm, and something _huge_ took to the air after it.

"Now, Hermione!"

The birds burst, and the dinosaur screamed as glowing ropes snapped into existence, twirling around and illuminating a giant snout—then the dinosaur fell, slamming into the ground. Light burst through the room like a bolt of lightning, and Dean saw Harry hurling huge, jagged rocks at the creature's wings, pinning them to the ground. More ropes snapped around his claws—restraining wings and legs. The dinosaurs ran, and Dean backpedalled away from the battle, only because he had no idea how to help while not getting killed.

Well, there was one thing he could do. " _Lumos Maxima_!"

The entire room erupted in a bright flash of light. Now Dean could see the creature struggling against the bonds, snapping them. Hermione suddenly appeared at the beast's snout, and she had Dean's hammer.

She whacked it several times.

The creature slumped over.

"NOOOOOOO!"

The collective great cry rose up from the audience, and Dean turned to see they were…

…Pink and blue unicorns?

"YOU KILLED THE KING!"

"NOOOO!"

And then Dean felt ripped in half. A few seconds later, a unicorn rushed him, impaling him with a horn, then exploded.

* * *

They'd incapacitated the monster. Harry had expected there might be another fight, they'd prepared an extra few traps just in case but…

There just weren't enough for a thousand rampaging _unicorns_.

"Harry!" screamed Hermione, and suddenly he saw _two_ of her. One was running to him, and the other was carrying a bleeding Dean.

 _What._

"Harry!" said the Hermione approaching him. "We have to save—"

Dean ran towards them, gasping for breath. "What in the world is happening?!"

 _Fuck._

How had he not seen this before? The fractured quests, the duplicated memories, the game was _breaking down_.

Harry grabbed his pouch. "Portkey to the train station!"

 _We are so dead._

He grasped the portkey, almost dropping it as the room shifted, began caving in, collapsing on itself.

He brandished his wand, shouted, " _Protego Maximus_!"

Then he grabbed Dean and Hermione's arms, and snapped the portkey.

The world bubbled as the portkey attempted to drag them to their destination, except it took them through the fire of a thousand suns.

Harry screamed, but his voice was wrong, his body was wrong, everything was Wrong.

Then there was a burst of light, and everything ended.

* * *

Hermione sat on the bench near the bus stop, her hands held in front of her. She stared at them.

She was not thinking. She was not doing. It took all her mental energy just to sit.

Harry and Dean seemed as lethargic as she was. Dead to the world.

 _I'm in shock,_ she thought. _What are you supposed to do when you go in shock? Get a blanket._

A bus left the lot. It might be the bus they needed to go home, but none of them cared.

 _Do something._

 _No._

 _Come on. Time to earn your Auror stripes._

She parted her lips, then said, her voice sounding foreign. "I think—" she stopped, clearing her throat. "I think we should call someone for help."

Another moment of silence. She couldn't remember who to call, or if she even had a means to do so.

"We should be dead," said Harry, sitting beside her. "I do not know why we are not. Unless, we actually are dead, and this is a state before death where the mind is still active."

Hermione remembered dragging Dean, bleeding from a stab wound, to Harry—but the Dean beside her looked unhurt. This shock thing was seriously screwing with her mind.

"Okay," said Harry. "I'm going with the hypothesis that we are not actually dead in this reality, in this universe. In which case, we ought to follow Hermione's suggestion and call someone."

"McGonagall," said Hermione's lips, pulling out her wand to speak the spell that would call her. She hesitated, her hand shaking as she lowered the wand. She felt like she might burst to pieces if she even tried, her magic screaming at her to stop. "Perhaps that's not a good idea."

Harry didn't raise his wand to cast the Patronus, and neither did Dean, apparently feeling the same.

"I got stabbed," said Dean. "And a unicorn exploded."

"I saw that," said Hermione. "And I saw Harry getting crushed by a rock."

"I'm guessing this isn't how your quests normally end?" asked Dean.

"No," said Harry. "We do not normally interact with physical representations of the 5th dimension."

"What?" asked Dean.

"The 10 dimensions," said Harry. "It's a theory of space time in physics. The first dimension is a line, the second is a 2-d shape, and the third is length, width and depth. This is a slice of our reality at any given moment, the dimension we are most familiar with." Harry swallowed, barely slowing down. "The fourth dimension is time and duration, as expressed in a line from birth to death. The fifth dimension is choice, the small alterations in reality that we can make at any moment that affect the line. The sixth dimension is all choices from the same initial condition, multiple branching timelines, which is how you could meet yourself as a rock star in another reality." His voice rose, getting faster. "And the seventh is different initial conditions of the universe, the eighth is the plane of infinite universes, and the ninth is moving across different universes, and the tenth is everything contained as a dot and okay I'm rambling—"

"Harry?" asked Hermione, her hand reaching for his shoulder.

He swallowed, his pupils dilated, his voice still rapid, "You would think that after all my exploitation of time turners, jumping into the fifth dimension with different concurrent timelines wouldn't be so traumatizing. But, as it turns out, seeing your friends get impaled and fall off cliffs really puts a different perspective on things. In fact, this was the exact sort of result that haunted me about time turners when McGonagall first showed me one. I mean, what if we'd gotten killed in the collapsing dimensional planes, or what if we'd just gotten _stuck_ there…" He trailed off, his eyes widening. "What if we were really in the seventh dimension, within a world of different starting conditions? What if that's where the _Hogwarts quests were all along_?"

Hermione took Harry's hand, laced it in hers. "Calm down. Breathe."

Harry coughed, heaved and threw up on the sidewalk beside him.

 _Vomiting, a sign of shock,_ said some part of her brain. _Or he could be bleeding internally._

A man walking to catch his bus stopped to look at them, his careworn face regarding them with concern. He knelt down beside Harry, his brown tweed coat dusting the ground, reminding her of her father. Examining him for a moment, he asked Hermione, "Do you and your friends need help?"

She nodded. "Yes, please."

The man stood and drew a wand, murmuring a few words so that the world blurred around them. " _Expecto Patronum!_ " A glowing wolf leaped from his wand. "Minerva McGonagall, Hogwarts. Tell her that I have three students I'm taking to St. Mungos. Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and…"

"Dean Thomas," her friend said, so softly she could barely hear. She turned to him, and noticed his eyes were glassy.

"Dean Thomas," said the man. "Tell her I will return them to her care as soon as possible."

The Patronus departed, and Harry finally looked up. "…Mr. Lupin?"

* * *

Author's note: Thanks to my awesome beta reader, RemedialAction, for looking over my work and helping brainstorm with me. :) Check out his story about Slytherin Hermione, Brilliant but Scary, on Archive of our Own.

Also, if you don't get the 10 dimensions, that's okay, it's a weird concept. "Ten Dimensions Explained" on Youtube gives a pretty good description though, if you're curious.


	42. Interviews

Chapter 42: Interviews

Hermione gazed uncertainly at the nurse who was poking her—for the fifth time—with the needle to draw her blood.

"Do you know why it's not coming out?" asked the younger nurse, addressing her supervisor watching them. "Deep veins, maybe?"

"Err…no," said Hermione. "It's like I said, my skin has magical properties. It tends to regenerate around needles."

"Well…" the supervisor pursed her lips. "We need to get the blood somehow for testing."

Hermione sighed. "Yes, I know. Here," she said, drawing a deep line on her arm with her fingernail. Blood poured out. "Collect that."

As they mopped it up with gauze strips, Hermione grimaced. This was why she disliked hospitals. Her physical form was too weird for anyone to know what to make of it. Physically speaking, she knew that she was fine, but her blood would tell the magical instruments a whole different story.

They would say that she was part troll, constantly transfiguring herself into the shape of Hermione. If one part of her was cut off, then theoretically, it could grow back (or even grow _another_ Hermione, though she really _really_ hoped not). She was also part unicorn, which meant blood could not be drawn except by a magical blade…or, in this case, by alicorn fingernails.

She didn't even know if she _could_ get sick, but if she ever did require emergency care, then good luck to the doctors ministering to her.

There was a knock on the door, and Professor McGonagall entered, accompanied by the man that had rescued them earlier.

"Hermione, are you feeling better?" asked McGonagall.

She nodded and sat up. "Are Harry and Dean okay?"

"They're both recovering well, don't worry." McGonagall smiled and turned to her companion. "I want to introduce you to Remus Lupin. He works in the research department for the Ministry of Magic."

Remus Lupin inclined his head, the lines around his eyes crinkling as he smiled at her. "Hello again," he said, with gentle, sincere warmth. "I'm glad to see you're feeling better. We would like to ask you a few questions, if you're feeling up to it?"

She agreed, and they took seats beside her.

"First of all," said Remus. "Please tell us everything you remember about today's Hogwarts quest. Start from the beginning."

* * *

When McGonagall and Remus Lupin entered his hospital room, Dean couldn't help feeling a little awkward about it.

For one thing, he still felt pretty woozy from the treatment at St. Mungos. According to the medical reports, his body was suffering the effects of "temporal displacement," which made no sense. However, when the healers described the symptoms, they sounded like radiation poisoning, and that was _definitely_ worrisome. The healers cast a litany of healing spells on him, and whatever they'd done made him feel like he'd aged ten years in one day.

For another, both his Headmistress and a researcher from the Ministry of Magic were in his room, while he was clothed in a medical gown, asking for hisstatement on what happened. And they wanted him to be _completely truthful_.

"I'm not sure how much help I'll be," said Dean, struggling to sit up. "It was my first time attempting the quests, so I don't really know what's normal. But…I suppose there were a few things that seemed off."

"Don't worry about if it's useful or not, just tell us what you can." McGonagall clicked her pen. "In what way were the quests unusual, Dean?"

"I'm not sure the best way to describe it, but do you know what a record skip is? There were several moments like that. Like in the fight I had with a velociraptor, I was pummelled in 10 seconds and I don't even remember it happening." He rubbed his forehead. "But the weirdest part was when it seemed like my memory was playing tricks on me."

"Tricks?" Remus frowned. "Can you elaborate?"

"So, at one point we were trying on clothes in a store. Hermione goes to the changing room, and a second later I hear a blood curdling scream. I dropped the clothing and ran over there, worried I would find her bleeding on the floor. But then she comes back out looking just fine."

"When did this happen?" asked McGonagall.

He took a moment to think. "A little before we heard the flying monster roaring the first time, though it's hard to remember. Honestly, I'm not sure how much of what happened was real. I mean, fighting evil creatures is something you expect in role playing games, but I'm pretty sure I was impaled by a unicorn, right after Harry and I almost…" He swallowed. "Right after we almost tried to kill each other." He gazed up at the two of them, fearful. "Is _that_ supposed to happen in a quest?"

* * *

"Can I go yet?" asked Harry impatiently.

"Soon," said the healer. "First, I'll have to give you a clean bill of health. Now, hold still, I need to listen to your heartbeat."

Harry suffered through this process, as he considered non-resistance would make things pass more quickly. The healer told him that Hermione was awake and doing well—and no, he couldn't wander over to check, sit down and rest already.

He couldn't help feeling keyed up, though. He was annoyed the healer wanted him to sit still, annoyed by the healer's aftershave and his slow speaking cadence. The examination was taking _forever._ Harry kept feeling like he had to run, do, act or change _something_ , and it was only after the doctor made him stand up-and he almost collapsed-that he realized something was wrong.

"I'll need to keep you overnight," said the healer, writing something on the chart. "Temporal displacement affects everyone differently, but it usually targets your mental state and your magic. So while you rest, don't try to cast any spells, handle any sharp objects, or attempt to fly a broom."

"Well, _obviously_. Do you have a lot of patients try that?" asked Harry, aghast. "Nevermind, don't answer that. Evidently someone _has_ if you're forced to give that disclaimer, and I don't need another reason to despair over humanity."

"Well, there's a reason some people end up in hospitals more than others." The healer smiled, shook his head, and made a final note on the chart. "Stay here, relax, and try not to annoy anybody, okay?"

Indignation flared in Harry, but he remained silent. The Zen Harry project was off to a rough start, but it's not like he was going to just give up. Harry tried an old technique. _One, two, three, four…_

He was still counting when McGonagall and Remus Lupin came to ask questions. At this point, Harry had been considering what he would say for about an hour, so he was ready.

"I have every intention of cooperating fully with your investigation," said Harry. "I know it's extremely important, so I'll do my best to honestly answer all your questions. But I also have information I'd like to request from you in exchange, Remus Lupin."

"From me?" he asked, and Harry nodded. Lupin blinked, his hair falling in his eyes. Something pinged in the back of Harry's mind, finding it odd the researcher was so surprised at being asked for information. Finally, Remus stuttered out a response. "Well…it's a reasonable request, I suppose. I can't promise I'll tell you everything, but by all means, ask."

Harry tried to be thorough in his explanation. He talked about what he saw, and also what he suspected had happened. No details were left out. It took a long time for them to get through their questions, and which point the sun was descending towards the horizon. As much as Harry tried to remain calm, he felt his impatience grow with every second.

"Thank you, Harry," said Remus Lupin, closing his notebook. "Your explanation was extremely helpful. Please let me know if you remember anything else."

"Right," said Harry. "Now, it's my turn to ask a few questions. I've been open and honest with you, and I'm expecting the same courtesy."

Remus Lupin nodded. "Of course. Go ahead, Harry."

Harry opened his mouth, then closed it. A damning piece of evidence occurred to him.

 _He won't tell you anything. Your honesty, and your agreement, they give you no actual leverage. When faced with a situation where relaying information to children would be uncomfortable, adults make excuses. And if Remus refuses to cooperate, then I will snap, and I will say something caustic and spiteful, and he'll feel justified in not telling an immature boy anything._

"Harry?" asked Remus gently, a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Are you well?"

He shook his head. "Not really. Can we postpone this to another time?"

Remus nodded, his eyes meeting Harry's with a gaze of concern. Something about the look made Harry feel uncomfortable, and it took him a moment to process why. Harry quickly looked away, but he feared it was too late.

 _I don't appreciate that,_ Harry wanted to say, but realized this wouldn't give him any leverage either. Reading someone's mind wasn't illegal, or even frowned upon. Harry coughed, settling into bed and closing his eyes. Better to let Remus Lupin think he was a tired, sick boy, than reveal he was an Occlumens. He just hoped Remus hadn't seen anything Harry didn't want him to see.

"Rest well, Harry," said McGonagall, as she and Remus left. "I'll come check on you in the morning."

* * *

A few minutes after ten pm, there was a knock at the door of Hermione's room.

She rubbed her eyes, blinked, then sat up expectantly. She'd been dozing for the last few hours, convalescing even though she didn't really need to, and feeling sort of sad and lonely.

This hospital room reminded her of her stay in the Hogwarts infirmary. It was after she "attacked" Draco and was held by the Ministry in a prison cell, which drained her to the point that she needed medical attention after her release. Harry wasn't allowed inside her hospital room, so he'd sat outside her door all day, reading and waiting for her to come out. She'd been depressed at the time, and hadn't realized how sweet it was of him to wait for her. Now she found herself hoping it was Harry at her door, impatient to see her and make sure she was alright.

But the door opened, and it was only Remus Lupin and McGonagall. Hermione tried to hide her disappointment behind a smile. "Headmistress, Mr. Lupin. How is everything?"

McGonagall smiled warmly, the stress behind her eyes momentarily lifted. "Hermione, I have some good news. The healers have cleared you to leave tonight, and the boys tomorrow morning."

"Of course," said Hermione. "Umm, can I go see Harry and Dean before I leave?"

"In the morning you may, if you decide to stay the night, but I think they're both resting now." She sighed heavily. "I'm sorry to bother you so late, but can we ask a few follow up questions?"

"Sure," said Hermione. "What do you need?"

The concern was heavy on McGonagall's brow as she sat down. Her wand wearily cast a spell, muting the sounds in the room. "Have you noticed anything peculiar about Harry's behaviour recently?"

Hermione blinked. "He's busy, and I don't see him as often as I used to. Other than that, he's normal…well, as normal as he's ever been." She added, with the smallest hint of a smile.

"What is he busy doing?" asked McGonagall.

"Research, experiments." She shrugged, her gaze lowering. "We haven't talked enough recently for me to give more detail."

"I see," said McGonagall. "Is he working on these projects alone?"

"I think so," said Hermione. "He doesn't work well with most other students; he thinks they get in the way. He tends to lose track of time when he's working, forgetting to eat. He has a little cot in his lab for sleeping."

Hermione glanced over at Remus, who was studying her, but not in a way that felt intrusive.

"One more question," said McGonagall. "In the past, has Harry ever researched or shown interest in spells that affect memory?"

"Umm…spell memory, like storage? Yes. We worked on that project together. Human memory manipulation, I don't think so."

The concern on her face deepened, and Hermione was about to ask why when someone knocked at the door. "Oh," said Hermione. "I think that's the food I ordered, I'm sorry."

"That's okay, I think that's enough for today," said McGonagall, rising. "Thank you, Hermione."

McGonagall waved her hand, and the quieting spell lifted. The door opened to reveal a nurse carrying a tray of food, Tonks trailing behind her. "Heyo, friend of mine, I thought I would…" She trailed off, staring at the guests in the room. "Sorry, I uhh…"

"Remus Lupin, this is Nymphadora Tonks," said the Headmistress, waving a hand in her direction. "She has a habit of changing her appearance, but you can always recognize her by her tendency to get into mischief."

"Nymphadora," said Remus Lupin, inclining his head. "A pleasure to meet you."

"Heh, that's…umm…hi there," she said, blinking at him. "Call me Tonks."

"Tonks." He spoke the word as if tasting it. "What an interesting name. It suits you."

"We must be going," said McGonagall. "We'll leave Hermione in your care, Tonks. Make sure she gets back to Hogwarts by tomorrow morning."

Tonks nodded, turning on her heel to watch them leave the room. She stared after them for a long moment.

"Tonks? Are you okay?"

She turned back to Hermione, hands scrunched up to her face. Every part of her had turned some shade of pink. "He's…so…adorable! Tell me everything you know about him!"

* * *

Remus took a seat in Minerva's office, but she couldn't help pacing.

"I've been working at this school for more than half my life, Remus," she said. "I've been through two Wizarding Wars, and seen more than my fair share of strange and unusual things. But this, _this_ …" She sighed, putting her hand on her forehead. "You deal with magical oddities on a regular basis. What do you make of all this?"

He sighed, his brows furrowing as he rummaged through his pockets. Something about Remus always looked a bit careworn and older than his years. Even as a student, he was more introspective and patient than his peers, regardless of the stereotypes about his affliction. It was partly for this reason that she saw him as an equal, despite their age gap.

Remus's hands closed on what they were looking for, and he drew out a pipe, his hand trembling slightly. "May I smoke?"

She waved her hand dismissively, and he lit the pipe. As an apprentice to the Unspeakables, he was a workaholic by necessity, as their shifts ran 30 hours per day for months at a time. The stress broke most candidates, and Remus had been pressured harder than most, for reasons that he had no control over. Minerva wasn't about to deny him a small creature comfort.

"Well," Remus adjusted himself in the chair, drawing the pipe to his lips. "It has been a few decades since my time at Hogwarts, but I agree with you. Spontaneous duplication is very odd, and alarming. As it turns out, it's also not an isolated incident."

Remus Lupin flipped through his notebook, then read off a page. _"Alexander Birchtree, age 47, was out walking his dog when he stopped to tie his shoe. He looked up to see his doppelganger running past. Alexander called out, but the doppelganger rounded a corner and disappeared."_

Minerva stopped pacing as he flipped to another page _. "Francesca Barton, age 14. She saw her sister on the couch watching the television. Then she saw on the tv screen her sister performing in a live production occurring six hours away."_

Remus closed his notebook. "Spontaneous duplication usually only occurs when a victim has done something to cause it, like experimenting on a time turner. But these people are Squibs."

"Squibs? All of them?"

"Several of them. We still don't know why. The instances of duplication are minor, but unusual enough that the Unspeakables are looking into it. So far, there's nothing as serious as what happened in the Hogwarts quest."

Minerva rounded her desk and sat in her chair. "Any idea what could cause spontaneous duplication? Besides Harry's interpretation, I mean."

Remus smiled. "Ahh yes, Harry's 'crossing between dimensions' theory. No, I think you're right, his idea is impossible. The Ministry tried something once, but it…well, it doesn't _actually_ work. Even if it did, it would require far, far more power than we have access to. Like, several suns' worth."

Minerva frowned. She didn't like the idea of the Ministry experimenting with time and space, if there was even the _slightest_ chance it could lead to something like what happened in Hogwarts last year.

"Well, whatever's happening with the Hogwarts quests, they've clearly stopped following the rules." Minerva said. "Harry says he used portkey to escape, but that shouldn't have worked, if the quests truly exist within the wards of Hogwarts. Furthermore, his portkey should have led to a university campus in Scotland, not a bus station in Yorkshire."

"True. Unless they weren't in Hogwarts," Remus said. "Or the portkey isn't what saved them."

Minerva froze, blinking. "Remus?"

Remus smoked for a moment, his voice reverent. "The quests are old, Headmistress, and a powerful construct that has the ability to manipulate vast quantities of space. And as you are aware, anything that powerful infused with magic will eventually gain some…unusual properties. One would almost call it an awareness. It almost makes me wonder if…"

He blinked slowly, his gaze far away, then shook his head. "Well, anyway, that's all conjecture at this point. I don't think we'll be able to pin down anything until we determine exactly what these quests _are_." He let out a half smile. "But I imagine, with your heavy workload, that you haven't had time to make progress on that large shelf of magical quest items behind you."

Minerva arched an eyebrow, watching him take a drag on his pipe. Most students who attempted the Hogwarts quests won a few interesting items. Some of them—a rare few—uncovered treasures that they used to go on heroic adventures, or pioneer great magical inventions. Remus had been one of them, a blessing that had saved him from a life of poverty that was usual for those who carried his curse.

She watched his eyes roving her treasures, noticed how bloodshot they were, and the unhealthy pallor to his skin. The quests couldn't save him from everything.

"Your shelf is growing too, from the looks of it," said Remus, peering closely. "Is that a…brick of white powder up there?"

She nodded. "I've tested it in every way possible, sent it to experts in the field, and I _still_ have no idea what it is."

"May I?" he asked, and Minerva nodded her consent. He approached the shelf and picked up the brick, weighing it in his hands. A peculiar look crossed his face, and he set it back down. "Huh. Interesting. You know, I've always wanted to study the Hogwarts quest items."

"You're more than welcome to, Remus, whenever you have time. I'm surprised the Ministry hasn't already made studying the quests a priority."

"Well, I suppose technically they have." He exhaled heavily, sinking back into the chair. "I just finished giving them my report before our meeting. They want a researcher to look into the malfunctioning Hogwarts quests, see if there's any important information there." He averted his eyes. "While I'm here, they also want me to keep an eye on a few other things."

"I see." A moment of silence. "What sorts of things are they most concerned about?"

"Youalready know, Minerva," he said quietly. "You've seen into Harry and Hermione's minds, and you've read the prophecies. You know why they want me here."

"Well," she said, clearing her throat. "Very well, then. I'll do my best to help you."

Remus took a drag of his pipe, saying nothing. Minerva understood why this had to happen, even regarded it as inevitable. Even so, it bothered her. She couldn't help feeling like overreliance on prophecy was leading them on a wild good chase. Harry had done _nothing_ wrong…well, nothing THAT wrong, at least. He could be a troublemaker, but Hogwarts always had those. Of more concern, in her opinion, were the dangerous revolutionaries they still hadn't caught or unmasked.

"Well…anyway…there was one thing I wanted to ask you," said Minerva. "I have a student named Lavender, a young Seer. She came to me a few weeks ago, sobbing, and asked me to Obliviate her of all the prophecies. Standard protocol dictates that it only be Obliviated after the entire prophecy has been preserved. But her prophecies are unusual—they're fragments, and difficult to transcribe. Do you know if the Ministry actually has a new Hall of Prophecy? I'd rather not make the poor girl wait until I've finished transcribing by hand."

Remus shrugged. "I wish I could help you, but they don't tell me much at the Ministry beyond what I need to know. I'm a Master of Strange Artefacts, and that's about it." He took a slow drag on his pipe, turning his penetrating, yet kind, gaze to her. "Why does she want to get rid of them?"

"She's being bullied, and she wants it to stop. She feels the only way is to take away her visions."

"Oh. Well, then, if it were me," said Remus softly. "I'd say protocol is protocol, and do what I think is right."

He sighed and stood up. "I've got a few things to wrap up back at the Ministry, but I'll return in a few hours."

"I'll have a workroom ready for you in Hogwarts," said Minerva, as he walked a few paces to the doorway. "And Remus for the record…I'm glad they chose you."

He blinked then smiled, in a way that seemed almost sad, and closed the door behind him.

* * *

[January, 1996]

Romilda sighed as she glanced at the parchment in her hands. Her eyes involuntarily flitted to the window, seeking an owl.

It was late, almost time for curfew. She shifted in bed, her impatience growing every moment. She'd gotten four letters from Mr. Black so far, each one saved in the hidden compartment of her nightstand. She charmed it every six hours, mortified that anyone would find out what she was doing with her stationary.

She sometimes imagined what her pen pal would look like. Huge ears, obviously, and balding, sitting alone in a poorly lit office. His definitely _sounded_ like a fussy old person. How ironic it would be if Mr. Black wasn't actually black, but a white, pale albino.

[Draco, who was lying in bed with his eyes closed, frowned deeply. How could his writing sound like a fussy old man? The white and pale hit close to home, though…]

An owl fluttered in with a new letter, and Romilda rushed off her bed to grab it, letting out a little squeal of delight as she flung herself onto her bed. "Let's see what you've got for me today, Mr. Albino Man."

[Draco could not see her face—since he was looking through her eyes—but he could sense her emotions. She was smiling, giggling softly as she read the letter, thinking of this moment as the highlight of her day. He snorted, feeling mollified. Fussy old man, indeed.

Draco was gaining a new understanding of how thought worked. It was not always linear, but constantly bouncing around from past to future. A memory here, imagined scenario there, and even moments of time where literally nothing comprehensible happened. It was hard to decipher at first, but the more time he spent with Romilda's thoughts, the more comfortable he felt there. There was something very Gryffindor about it—warm, bright and confident.]

The door creaked open, and Romilda quickly stuffed the newest letter under her pillow as Angelina walked into the dorm. When Angelina ignored her and flopped onto her bed, Romilda realized she was being ridiculous. It wasn't like she was doing anything _wrong_. Still…maybe it was too early to let everyone see.

Shrugging off her concerns, Romilda went to the bathroom and got undressed—

[Draco sat up in alarm, the memory swirling into an unstable mess. He swallowed, and tried to will his heart to stop beating so fast. He was _not_ going to be immature about this. There was probably nothing to see, anyway, she wouldn't dwell on her own body…

Unless, she walked past a mirror…or…decided to sh-shower…]

Romilda quickly undressed and put on her nightgown, pausing just a moment to inspect the acne spot on her arm. She considered popping it, but decided it wasn't worth the hassle.

[Draco let out a breath. He needed to figure out how to fast forward, in case he ever _did_ see her showering. That didn't make him _stuffy_ , just not _rude_. Though, he had noticed that it was hard to feel anything that Romilda didn't feel, when he was in her memories. Seeing a memory of her completely naked might evoke nothing but boredom.]

Romilda was wetting the comb to brush her hair when she paused, staring into the mirror, thinking about how top heavy she looked with her bushy hair and wide shoulders. Briefly, the image flashed in her mind of all the times she'd looked into the mirror and felt disappointed.

She wondered if Mr. Black knew what she looked like. She knew he was older than her, which was a good thing, but she hoped he wasn't too much older. Maybe around 30. She wondered if Mr. Albino Man would think her dark skin was pretty.

Another thought occurred to her. What if he wasn't a con-artist at all, and he had a real opportunity for her? What if he could get her out of Hogwarts?

Her heart pounded, surprise and fear coursing through her. It was a tantalizing kind of fear, though, one with electricity that spread through your fingers and toes. She blinked, catching sight of her own shocked face in the mirror. She stuck her tongue out.

This was ridiculous. She wasn't going to get caught up in mushy feelings. He was just a con-artist she was playing mind games with, and when they grew bored of each other, they would stop talking. That's the way it always worked.

[Draco marveled at how well the influence charm was working. Its subtle magic within the enchanted parchment had been what convinced her to keep writing to him. He could have written about bird faeces and she would have responded.

Although Draco wouldn't do that, of course. He was a man of culture and breeding. And it's not like he didn't put _thought_ into these letters. He took his job seriously, though even he had to admit, he'd spent maybe a little too much time on the last letter. At this point in her memories, she wasn't even an informant yet, and she still hadn't given him any useful information.]

She continued brushing her hair, thinking of how her mum used to comb it out after a bath. _Stay still, child, do you want a rat's nest?_ She always brushed too hard, that's why Romilda squirmed and ran away. Her mother couldn't seem to understand that her daughter's hair wasn't as soft and smooth as hers. Romilda used to stretch her hair out until it hurt her scalp, hoping it would stay just a little straighter.

The image popped into her head of the mystery man running his fingers through her hair, and telling her it was the most beautiful he'd ever seen.

 _Merlin, you're delusional._

She finished getting ready for bed, then climbed under the covers. She looked up at the picture above her head of Lockhart, but this time, when she closed her eyes, she imagined her Mystery Man's face in the place of the adventurer. A smile came to her lips.

Maybe just _one_ fantasy was okay.

[Draco shifted uncomfortably. He knew the charm influenced behaviour, but did it also affect their thoughts? There wasn't even that much in the bottle, he couldn't have overapplied it. Maybe he should stop using the charm, see if that fixed things? She might still talk to him, just because she wanted to…

Not that it mattered, at this point. They no longer exchanged letters. He'd gotten what he wanted.]

Romilda fell asleep, her last thoughts of the Mystery Albino whisking her somewhere far away.

[Draco paused for a moment, then pushed through the memories, trying to get closer to the present time.]


	43. The Philosopher's Rejects

Chapter 43: Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Rejects

March 3rd, 1996

Coming back from the hospital didn't mean that everyone was done convalescing. That took another day or so. But after a slow, quiet Saturday, Hermione was surprised to see Dean so fired up at breakfast the next morning.

"Please tell me you've seen Gargoyles," he pleaded. "Or Power Rangers."

Hermione shook her head, and Dean's eyes widened.

"That's it, next break I'm taking you to my house and we're marathoning everything. I hope you didn't have other plans, because they're now cancelled."

Hermione smiled, taking a few bites of her strawberries. For Dean, television was serious business, and she was surprised and a little pleased how much he wanted to include her. It felt strange, too, since people didn't usually go out of their way to include her in things.

"Watching the telly for all of Spring Break?" she asked, with an impish smile. "What about going outside?"

"Forget that!" said Dean. "You haven't been keeping up with your Muggle studies." He nudged her arm. "Don't worry, I can fix that."

Hermione blushed, and tried to focus on eating breakfast. In spite of herself, she found her eyes straying to the Ravenclaw table. Harry was still suspiciously absent. It worried her, and she resented the fact she was worrying so much, because obviously _he_ didn't care. He'd messaged her once to ask if she was okay, and that was the end of their communication.

She bit her lip, lost in thought and picking at her food. Where _was_ he? Students didn't just disappear into thin air, even the airy Ravenclaws showed up to meals. It wasn't normal. Was he avoiding her, holed up in his lab, or-

Seamus ran over to them, nearly crashing into the table.

"Oi, mind the pancakes!" said Dean, throwing up a protective arm barrier. "It's been three days! Where have you been?"

Seamus dumped pancakes, eggs and bacon onto a plate, drizzling syrup over the entire thing. With a wide, smug grin he declared, "You're looking at the Gryffindor who found the final clue!"

"What final clue…" Dean trailed off. "Wait, you don't mean…" His voice dropped to a whisper. "The Weasley's Secret Stash?"

Seamus just chuckled, taking a victorious bite of bacon pancakes.

Hermione blinked. "Secret stash? What's that?"

Instead of replying, Dean leaped to his feet. "You found the stash and you're _eating,_ Seamus? Someone else might get there first! Come on, let's go!"

* * *

All that Gryffindor house had talked about in the last few weeks was the quest for the mythological Weasley's Secret Stash of Magical Items. It was destined for their true successors in Gryffindor, for someone truly worthy to take up their mantle. The twins left clues all around the castle to draw in the contestants, but only the most curious and mischievous would unlock the final secret.

Dean, Seamus and Hermione dashed to the doorway where the final clue waited to be cracked. When they turned the dial on the door, Dean held his breath, heart pounding. He expected to see treasure, fireworks, and a display of magic so mysterious and astonishing that only the Weasleys could pull it off.

Instead, the three of them opened the door to a bare office, the walls and floor containing a simple desk and two chairs, with a banner strung above that said, "Congratulations! You did it!"

"This can't be right," said Seamus, rushing to the desk, opening all the drawers. Dean and Hermione checked for cracks and openings in the walls.

"I found something!" cried Dean, holding up a piece of paper. They rushed over to examine it, Seamus nearly snatching it from Dean's hand, but he jerked it away.

Hermione looked over Dean's shoulder to read the letter, and he adjusted himself so she could see it better.

 _Dear Contestants,_

 _Congratulations for solving the final riddle! You are truly worthy of the Weasley's Secret Stash. Unfortunately, we had need of the supplies, so we took the stash away to a secure location. As a consolation prize, you may look through our pile of items in progress! Perhaps you can succeed where we couldn't? Happy pranking!_

"This is total bollocks!" cried Seamus, kicking a chair.

Dean couldn't help feeling a little betrayed as well, but it _did_ make some kind of karmic sense that this would be their last prank.

They found the "box of items in progress" in a secret compartment in the desk. The boys pulled out the items and examined them.

"Lizard cream, squelch surprise, burping balloons…these aren't items in progress!" cried Seamus, throwing the box into Dean's arms. "They're rejects! They just gave us their failures!"

Dean grimaced, remembering the time the Weasleys had left a "squelch surprise" in the Gryffindor common room. He gave it a wide berth when examining the other objects.

Hermione frowned. "Err…why is that balloon expanding?"

"Seamus, stop cursing in Gaelic, you're setting off the balloons!"

"I cannot believe," Seamus cried. "That I saved up all my Christmas money for their trading card collection!" He stormed out of the room. "I'm going to _burn it all_ , those wankers!"

Dean set down the box with a sigh. He debated going after Seamus, but noticed Hermione searching the walls in confusion. "Something wrong?" he asked.

"This place," said Hermione. "It feels…familiar? Like I've been here before. Or somewhere like it, anyway."

"Huh. Well, it's possible, if you ever snuck into Gryffindor tower," said Dean.

Hermione shrugged and started rummaging through the reject items. "Gaelic makes the balloons expand?" she asked, stretching one of them.

"Anything does, mostly. It was supposed to be that if you puffed once into a balloon, it would fill up with air. But when they tried them at Ginny's birthday party, the balloons blew up with the slightest provocation, and eventually burst."

"Not very useful, then," said Hermione, setting the balloon aside and rummaging through the box. "What are these black shoes for?"

Dean smiled. "They're supposed to make you a better dancer for the Yule Ball. But the results were…inconsistent. You could always give them to Harry so he doesn't step…" He saw her tense at his name, and he stopped. "Sorry." There was an awkward pause. "Is he feeling better? I haven't seen him."

She shrugged. "Neither have I, but I think he's fine. As for your other comment, he would probably rather stand in a pit of scorpions than go dancing."

"Well, he's missing out," said Dean. "The planning committee is putting a lot of effort into this event, and I think it's actually going to be a pretty fun party."

"Hmm. You'll have to tell me all about it."

"You're not going?"

She shrugged and rubbed her neck, and Dean wondered at how Harry could keep this friend of his around and not…like…buy her a necklace, or something? How could he be so blind?

As she kept rummaging through the box, Dean thought hard about what to do next.

"So, umm, dancing is fun," said Dean. "Also, did you know they have food at the dance?"

"Yes, I figured they would."

"So, umm…you and me…we could go get some free food and dance together, you know?"

"Huh?" said Hermione.

Dean took a deep breath. "I mean, would you like to go to the dance with me?"

There was silence for a few heartrending moments.

… _as a friend!_ His mind screamed to add, and it took all his strength of will to hold back. He didn't want to go as friends, and he couldn't bear to lie, though he imagined if she rejected him he would probably die anyway.

Hermione blushed. She smiled, the way he'd always hoped a girl would smile at him. "Yes, let's go together."

* * *

Neville walked in trepidation towards his doom.

He'd been holding off, coming up with excuses. Telling himself it wasn't time yet, that he just needed a few more days to work on his pitch.

But now there really was no more time. Everyone knew that Dean and Hermione were going to the dance together, and now Neville had to step it up. Let his inner Gryffindor come out.

Raising his hand, Neville knocked on the door to the Ravenclaw dorms. To the 4th year that answered, Neville stuttered, "Can I speak to Luna, please?"

* * *

"Oh, hello Neville," she said, blinking owlishly from her reading spot on the sofa. "What are you doing here?"

Sweating through his robes, Neville eyed the four other girls, reading by the windows. They would know of his failure. They would mock him forever.

 _No, have courage! If Dean can do it, then so can you!_

Luna tilted her head, then stood up. "Are you okay? Do you need Madam Pomfrey?"

"No!" cried Neville. "Umm…Luna…doyouwantogotothedancewithme?"

It came out in such a rush, he was sure she wouldn't understand…and he couldn't tell if that was better or worse.

She frowned. "Oh Neville, I'm so sorry."

His world came crashing down.

"You see, I'm betrothed."

"Huh?"

"Well, I will be. One day, I will marry someone from another star. He hasn't been born yet, though...in the sense that he does not exist in this world, anyway. So, I suppose I could go with you, but just as a friend."

Neville nodded. "Right, just as a friend. Sure…I mean…" He ran a hand over his forehead. "What is even happening?"

Her expression was so gentle. Pitying. "I think you're a great person, Neville. If I didn't know of his existence, it would be different. But since I do know, I have to be true to my intended."

 _She's mocking me. I don't believe it._

Two of the girls looked over, whispering to each other. One of them covered a laugh with her hand.

Neville turned and fled the room.

* * *

Neville passed through the hallways of Hogwarts, not to any place in particular. He was dead.

Several humans passed by him, laughing and ribbing each other. They did not notice his anguish, probably on account of his being a spectre now. Mournfully, Neville looked out the window at the life that blossomed on the school grounds. It was all grey to him, tainted by his anguished eyes.

He wanted to talk to someone, but no one could understand his pain. No one else knew what it was like to have all your hopes and dreams cruelly shattered before your very eyes. (Somewhere in his mind, Neville knew he was being overdramatic, but at the moment he didn't quite care.)

Passing him in the hallway, Neville spotted one of his own kind, also dead. The person was carrying a plate of food, as if trying to stay alive, but didn't seem concerned that most of his spaghetti had smooshed into his robes.

Neville recognized it as the Ghost of Harry. They stopped, observing each other.

"Hi," said Neville. "Umm…your robes."

Harry blinked, glanced down, grimaced. In an instant, he'd vanished the plate of food and the red stains on his robes.

"Neville," said Harry, a determined look in his eyes. "Do you have any plans for the evening?"

"No," said Neville.

"Great," said Harry. "Let's go get plastered."

* * *

Getting drunk had always been on Harry's list of Important Life Experiences. It was right up there with learning to drive and discovering his first subatomic particle. But he'd never found it a priority to cross that off his list until now.

"Cheers," said Harry, clinking glasses with Neville, then tipping back the butterbeer. The Three Broomsticks had plenty of tables, but they'd taken their seats at the bar, so as to be closest to the alcoholic beverages. The Weird Sisters played a little too loudly in the background, and the place buzzed with activity as it grew darker outside.

"Want to get some food?" suggested Neville, opening up the menu. "I hear they have great burgers here."

"Food helps metabolize alcohol," said Harry. "Which defeats the purpose of this excursion." Harry glanced at the menu. "But the chips do look good."

After ordering their snack, a familiar voice said, "Oy, 'arry! Never thought I'd see you here."

Harry turned around to see Fred—or maybe George—leaning against the bar with his usual grin, wearing bright purple robes and a top hat like Willy Wonka. "Hi," said Harry. "Err…what's up with the suit?"

"I'm a store proprietor now," said the twin, beaming, hands on his lapels. "Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes. George and I've got a shop down the street." Fred tilted his head in that direction. "Business is booming, and I'm here to meet potential investors. We're working on our most ambitious plan yet, but it's for a very secretive high profile client. Mum's the word." He stuck a finger to his lips and grinned. "What are you here for?"

"Oh, Neville and I are just getting wasted," said Harry.

"On butterbeer? You'll be here a while," said Fred, raising two fingers to the bartender. "Oy, buddy. Bring my friends here some of the good stuff."

A few seconds later, two bubbling red drinks appeared before the boys. "What is it?" asked Harry nervously, examining the drink list for anything that could corrode metal. His eyes widened at the names of the shots.

His common sense dictated that anything that looked like it could corrode metal ought not to go in his stomach.

"That," declared Fred. "Is a Witch's Itchy Red Rash. If she doesn't get you drunk, then nothing will."

* * *

As the drinking progressed, it became clear that Harry's drunk self was just like his normal self, only louder. A few Ravenclaws had joined them in the meantime, ordering rounds of shots. Several of them, as it turned out, had a passing interest in Muggle Studies. This meant that inevitably a discussion about pointless topics started, specifically about favorite characters, at which point Harry declared passionately, "The best character ever is Han Solo, hands down. Let me tell you why."

Then followed a long rambling rant in which Harry made sure everyone understood that Han Solo was a) utilitarian and yet morally good b) best friends with Big-foot and c) the one who shot first, thank you. His reasoning got a bit muddy at the end, but no one was sober enough to care about the finer points of eloquency.

While Harry droned on and on, Roger Davis sat on his barstool, tapping his foot. While he wasn't a Muggle, he had perused a substantial amount of Muggle literature and media, and he had formed his own opinions on the subject. He listened with great patience, waiting for Harry to take a breath so he could interject his own opinion, but Neville beat him to it.

"I don't get it," said Neville, "You've got all these opinions on Star Wars, but what about Star Trek? I thought you would like Spock the best, since you basically are him."

"I am not Spock," declared Harry indignantly. Everyone stared at him for a few moments, and Harry muttered, "Okay, well, maybe there aresomesimilarities, but I absolutely despise Star Trek." Harry downed another shot, bringing the glass banging on the counter. "I mean, the show would be _decent_ if Spock were the captain, but no, they had to put James Tum-tum Kirk in charge of the Enterprise, who ought to own a plaque that says, 'Most likely to procreate with a troll.' Every time Spock gives him logical advice to not do a thing, Kirk goes and _does it anyway,_ coincidentally endangering the lives of his entire crew in the process."

Roger opened his mouth to speak, but Harry banged the glass again. "Furthermore, why do all the commanding officers on that ship leave at the same time? If the captain, the first mate, the communication specialist _and_ the doctor all get blown up on the surface, who's left to command the crew? Engineer Scotty?" Harry scoffed and shook his head. "And don't even get me started on the special effects. I could forgive it in the original series, but Star Wars came out in the 1970s, and the music and costumes are better than all the Star Trek series _combined._ "

"Excuse me," cut in Roger curtly. "But could you _please_ stop disrespecting the best television series of all time? I'll have you know that Star Wars is inferior in every way."

"Oh ho ho, _really_?" said Harry, swiveling back and forth on his bar stool. "Back that up with some evidence, sir."

"I have one word for you: phasers." Roger folded his arms. "Light sabers make no sense as a weapon when guns of any form exist."

"Well, actually," said Harry, who hadn't paused his chair swiveling. "Force sensitivity means that guns in the Star Wars universe don't work as effectively as light sabers. Case in point, all of the storm troopers could fire their guns at one jedi and miss. And while we're on the subject, why doesn't anyone at Starfleet with half a brain realize they can use teleporters as weapons?"

"Jedi are a socially backwards construct," countered Roger. "It's literally _emotion_ that turns people to the dark side, you have to be constantly calm if you don't want to turn evil. What's next, George Lucas, Jedi being forbidden to get married or have friends, because they might make you _feel things_?"

"Well, on the subject of relationships, let's talk about Captain Kirk," countered Harry, visibly agitated. "Vulcans, the smartest beings in the galaxy, only procreate once every seven years, which would explain why there's only _one_ available to work on the Enterprise. Meanwhile, Captain Underpants probably has a lovechild on every planet they dock on. Also, tribbles? Seriously?"

Snorting with smugness, Roger unleashed the deadliest comeback, "Ewoks?"

Everyone watched their squabbling debate for several minutes, growing uncomfortable as it became more heated. They'd expected a rousing discussion on play characters, not an angry diatribe about Muggle television. At this rate, they could go on for _hours_.

Neville racked his brain for a way to solve the problem, until finally he hit on something. "You know, you both have good points, but I think there's an easy way to settle this dilemma. Why don't they just create a movie where both sets of characters battle it out—"

" _A crossover_?" Roger and Harry both whirled on him, mouths agape. "Are you out of your ever-loving mind?!"

* * *

Several pints later, Neville and Harry had become a lot more introspective.

"Neville," said Harry, finger painting the bar with the condensation from his glass. "I just figured it out. My love life is like Hoth. It's cold and arid and nothing grows there, except those nasty Yeti wampas."

"Well, my love life is like Tatooine," sighed Neville. "Not a drop of water in sight, and those glowy eye scavengers—"

"The Jawa?"

"Uhh, yeah. They steal everything good in my heart and leave behind an empty husk."

Roger, who had a steady girlfriend, sipped his butterbeer and said nothing.

"It's like…" Harry hiccupped and listed a little, clumsily righting himself. "I'm Han Solo, frozen in carbonite, betrayed and alone."

"Sooo…" said Roger. "Romance troubles, huh? If you need help getting a date, Marguerite can-"

"Listen," explained Neville. "Please stop talking."

Harry continued finger painting, his voice soft. "He must have known how precious she was to me. I thought I could trust her to him, just for a few days. And then…" Harry's hands clenched into fists, thumping on the counter. "Lando _stole_ her from me. He betrayed me, he…"

His hands unclenched and he sighed. "No, that's not it. I may want to make Dean the villain of this story, but I've got to be honest with myself, if to no one else." His smile was bitter. "I always thought I would be a hero like Han Solo, or at least Luke Skywalker." His voice dropped to a near whisper. "But what if this whole time, I've really been Darth Vader? Or worse, some wanna be Sith Edge Lord? Maybe I should just embrace my true nature, learn to do some force choke holds. I could always go see if the Evil Emperor is still accepting applicants for an apprentice."

"Harry, I know you're joking," said Neville, shaking his head. "But even if you used the Darth Vader's theme as your team's marching song in first year, and even if you're a bit scary when you're angry, that doesn't make you a dark lord."

Harry grimaced, taking a painful swallow of his drink. "Well, Neville, guess what? The Sorting Hat disagrees with you, along with quite a few other vocal sources. According to all the predictive powers that be, you're looking at Harry Potter, the Next Dark Lord and Destroyer of Worlds."

A few moments later, Harry raised his glass. "Barkeep!" he barked. "More meade, posthaste!"

The bartender shook his head and walked away.

"Well, fine," muttered Harry, raising his hand and clenching his fingers. "Perhaps he needs a lesson in my _true_ powers."

"Uhh," said Neville, swatting his arm down. "How about we umm, don't do that."

* * *

A few drinks later, Roger had gone home and left the two boys to their wallowing.

Neville sighed, staring into his blue martini, thinking of Luna's blue eyes. "I'm so pathetic."

"You're not," said Harry, who'd given up on sitting upright. "You're great. I'm the one who sucks at being a human. Neville, did you know…the Sorting Hat offered me Hufflepuff?"

Neville raised his eyebrows. "It did?"

"Yes. And I rejected it. I said, 'Hufflepuff has nothing to offer me.' But you know what? That was a tremendous mistake, the first in a long litany of errors that I've committed, and continue to commit." His eyes were red, as he sniffled. "Hufflepuff is the best house. It's full of hardworking, intelligent people who actually _care_ about humanity, and don't just say they care. _They_ would have noticed I was antisocial and tried to befriend me, showed me how to be warm instead of cold. I could have reached my true potential as a scientist, and achieved everything I ever wanted there, _because_ they helped me, not in spite of it."

Neville was tearing up. "Hufflepuffs might not be the smartest or the bravest, but we do have some pretty amazing people. Oh, and also the best snacks. Like Christmas time sugar cookies a la mode, and tea time biscuits and buttered crumpets, and fresh baked muffins every Tuesday morning."

"You get _muffins_?" asked Harry.

Neville nodded. "And double chocolate fudge on Wednesday game nights, milk shakes for Saturday musical theater night, and made to order crepes every Sunday-"

"Holy Asimov!" Harry gaped. "What kind of scam is this? The House Elves don't even make me toast when I ask for it."

Neville shrugged. "Dunno. Maybe you could try saying please?"

* * *

Neville was debating if he should go back to Hogwarts when he could see straight, but Harry was still sipping and mumbling something about "experimental procedure."

Harry finished his drink, and a few seconds later, started beating his head with his fists.

"Arrgh!" he cried. "What's wrong with you? I can't even have five seconds of peace when you're flooded with neurological depressants!"

"Harry?" asked Neville, who had to blink to focus. "You okay, mate?"

"I can't stop thinking," Harry groaned. "Even when I'm sad, I just keep _thinking_ about why I'm sad, as if somehow fully understanding the pain will cure it. But that's just the insight fallacy I fall into constantly, _of course_ understanding a problem won't suddenly fix it, you have to take actionable steps to fix what's wrong. But how am I supposed to do that when I _can't stop thinking_ about how bad I _feel_ long enough to _do_ anything?"

Harry paused, gulped down another shot, and said bitterly, "I just have to face the facts. Hermione's destined to marry a man who's worthy of her, and I'll be an incompetent failure of a scientist who is alone, miserable and derives all my pleasure from choking idiots."

"That's not going to happen, Harry!" cried Neville, putting a hand on his friend's shoulder. "No matter what happens, I'll be with you. Just like, umm, just like Chewbacca and Han Solo."

Harry blinked. "That…actually is an idea. We can be best friends. My R2D2 to your C3PO."

"Exactly," added Neville. "We don't need girls to make us happy, as long as we have each other."

"Yeah, we could just…" He trailed off as they gazed into each other's eyes. As the force of gravity and alcohol combined, they leaned in slowly. Their foreheads bumped, and they scrambled away from each other. "What in the what?"

"This alcohol is stupid devil fire," stuttered Neville, hands fluttering. "My gram always says so."

They grabbed their coats and stumbled out of the bar, knocking into two patrons and a wall on the way out. As they trudged home, Harry muttered fiercely, "This Important Life Experience is stupid, and this experiment was an abject failure. Let us never speak of this again."

Author's Note:

I started writing this chapter after drinking some alcoholic beverages. Then my writing was like, "Drunk charactr turns to other drunk character and says, "Why are you drunk?" "Other Harry says "I don't know why." So I decided to write them while sober.


	44. Secrets

Chapter 44: Secrets

[January 20th, 1996]

Romilda slipped down the stairs, keeping her tread soft. She needed to make sure not to wake anyone, especially the ghosts. They were tattletales of the worst sort, always heading straight to McGonagall.

No one must know she was leaving Hogwarts. It was finally time. She was going to meet _him_.

[ _Draco couldn't help but chuckle at her excitement. He couldn't tell if it was her elation, or his own, that made his heart race with anticipation._ ]

Creeping through the dark, she passed the Great Hall and opened the door. She slipped out into the winter night, tasting freedom. The snow crunched beneath her feet, her excitement and nervousness building with each step. He'd promised to meet her at the edge of the forest, but she was just now realizing how _vast_ the forest was. She didn't know where to go.

So, she wandered, up and down the tree line, rubbing her hands. The Weasley gloves spread warmth through her fingers at the friction.

Once she spied the dark figure ahead of her, she stopped short.

Up to now, her letters had been harmless, but this was crossing a line into uncharted territory. She'd studied journalism, which meant she'd read plenty of news articles, seen the horror stories that made the front page. Young girls going missing in the middle of the night, killed by predators, human or worse.

After several slow breaths, she forced her feet to continue walking. She knew there was risk—just like every opportunity in life—but she'd assessed all that before she'd agreed to this meeting. The truth was if she didn't go now, she would always wonder if this was the opportunity she'd thrown away. She couldn't live with that regret.

Still, she wouldn't go in unprepared. Romilda cast a whispered protection spell, made sure the darkness powder was still in her pocket. It would be enough to get her away if things went wrong.

She walked towards the dark figure, who stood under a tree's shadow. When she was a few feet away, his face came into focus. Boris Krum, the Triwizard tournament contestant.

Romilda stopped short.

No, no, no. _He_ was her Albino Prince?

"Come closer," he asked.

She took the smallest of steps forwards, then folded her arms. He took a couple long strides in her direction, and Romilda's hands grasped for her wand as he gripped her chin and stared deep into her eyes. "Hmm. Have you been studying Legilimency?"

"Since I was nine," she replied, tartly.

"So young. Who taught you?"

Romilda could feel him trying to enter her mind, forced him back with a disgusted mental shove. _He_ didn't need to know who her teacher was. Romilda had never liked Boris, something always felt off about him. If it turned out he was her Albino Prince, she was walking _right_ back inside and trashing her letters.

"She will do," Boris said, releasing her and taking a step back. He raised his voice. "Her mind is strong and clear of outside influence."

"Excellent," a second man replied, stepping from the shadows. He gave her a calculating once over, and then said, in impeccable English. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Ms. Romilda Vane. I am Mr. Black."

His hair was a muddy, inconspicuous brown, his skin lightly tanned. She would have bet all her money it was a glamour. Polyjuice, perhaps, though she'd _heard_ of spells that could do the same thing. Apart from the anonymity a disguise offered, she suspected the _real_ Mr. Black would have much more memorable features.

[Draco could feel her excitement, her immediate attraction to him, and felt a sharp joy that was laced with pain. His emotions were too muddled with hers to figure out what it meant, although he resolved then and there to never use the influence potion on her again.]

Mr. Black offered his gloved hand, and she shook it. "You've passed the preliminary screenings. Are you ready to begin your final test, Romilda?"

She nodded eagerly. She felt she _should_ be afraid of the man who was hiding his identity, but strangely she wasn't. Already she could sense his intelligence, the sense of honour and depth that won her over in his letters. Even with barely any information to go on, she still liked him better than Boris Krum.

Mr. Black drew his wand. "First things first. _Somnium_."

When Romilda awakened, she was blind.

She tried to speak—she made no sound. She could not move either.

"Do not be afraid," said Mr. Black, closing her trembling hands in his. "The enchantment will only last for a few minutes. This is your final test. Can you tell me where you are?"

It took a few moments for Romilda's panic to settle down. If Mr. Black _was_ a dark wizard, at least he hadn't really hurt her yet. She needed time to find her way out of this, and solving the puzzle seemed to be the most likely avenue of escape.

She could not speak, but she could listen. All senses were available to her, except for sight. It was cold, and she felt wind. She could hear the crunch of snow, but otherwise it was quiet. No forest sounds.

 _If my senses are correct, I'm still outside. But where?_

It took her a few more seconds to decide. She nodded stiffly, and felt a force probing her mind. She projected the image of her answer.

"The Hogwarts Lake. How do you know?" Mr. Black asked.

" _Three reasons,"_ her brain responded, the information cascading faster than she could speak. _"First, students aren't allowed the leave the grounds without permission during the semester, or the wards will alert the Aurors. You're not looking to draw that kind of attention, which means we're probably still near Hogwarts. Secondly, very powerful wards prevent unsanctioned visitors from entering the property, and there are only two sections with borders that cross the boundary line: the Hogwarts Lake and the Forbidden Forest. Third and finally, the Hogwarts lake had its wards recently adjusted for the upcoming competition, but building wards on top of wards leads to cracks. I suspect you're exploiting a loophole in our defences to allow us both to be in the same location."_

There was a pause of several seconds, where the blood thundered in her ears.

[Draco remembered those five seconds. Sheer surprise.]

"Well done, Romilda. You passed."

She exhaled, and felt herself smile, waiting for her vision and voice to return to her. It was another few moments before she realized they would not. Her panic rose as she struggled against her bonds, found them immovable.

"Stay still," Draco said. "There are things to prepare."

She heard the dim murmur of a spell, felt the ambient rush of magic fill the air. It was electric and oppressively strong, making her hair stand on end. Romilda knew that power like that typically only came from a ritual, and those were, nine times out of ten, the product of dark magic.

Romilda's mouth went dry. She'd asked her mother once why dark magic was forbidden, and she'd said because it warped the true nature of magic, corrupting your soul. Romilda imagined that casting it felt dark, slimy, wrong. But this magic hummed beneath her skin—warm, real, _alive._ Merlin help her, she _liked_ the feeling, and didn't see how it could be wrong.

Her heart thundered like a drum as Mr. Black spoke. "Your mission is to gather evidence for me, and you will do so using a powerful form of Legilimency. To use it, you need an observant mind as well as _discretion_. You will follow my instructions to the letter. Anything you learn must be shared only with me and me only. If you find valuable information, you will be rewarded. If you cannot, or if you break these rules, you will be Obliviated and discharged from service. Do you agree to these terms?"

She nodded slowly. Did she even have another choice?

"Now—I'm going to take off your right glove."

He did so, and her hand was exposed to the cold night air. She heard a soft rustling, and the hum of magic grew unbelievably strong. If she hadn't been bound, she might have fallen to her knees.

"I'm going to guide your hand," he said. "You will touch a metal object, but only for a moment. It may be painful, but it will not hurt you."

Trembling against the pressure on her entire body, Romilda raised her hand.

Something metallic and hard touched her finger, but she only had the briefest sensation of that, before it was eclipsed by a wave of power. It was glitter exploding and shooting stars and a first kiss and flying on a broom and adventures in another dimension and everything she could have ever imagined or dreamed was possible, all at once shooting up from within her one finger.

The rush of power and possibility overwhelmed her senses, and she felt a part of her mind open up that had never existed before. It was hungry for more. Information, knowledge, all could be hers if she merely sought it…

In a cold instant, it was gone.

 _No!_

She lunged, her hand grasping, and then Mr. Black cried out. "Stop!"

Romilda fell back hard against the snow, her head swimming, heart pounding, wanting to cry and laugh forever at the same time.

And then this faded, too, replaced by a growing sense of finality.

 _[Draco, fingers gripping the table, could barely keep his thoughts straight. Merlin's balls, he'd never felt anything like_ that _when in contact with the ring.]_

Her vision slowly began to clear, darkness turning to shades of grey. She saw Mr. Black frantically scanning the ground with his wand. "It's everywhere!" he cried. "I can't dispel it!"

She saw him flicking his wand, drawing sparks and pops of energy to explode in the air. It was bright and loud, like a small firework shooting off. Romilda felt a wave of prickling heat, stinging her eyes and making her hair stand on end. It smelled of static energy, the build up of a lightning strike.

The power must have entered the ground. They were sitting on a bomb.

Everything was already so strange that Romilda could hardly figure out where reality ended and began, when suddenly she heard a voice that completely shattered her suspension of disbelief.

"Yoo hoo!" Romilda saw a vague floating shape approaching, white as a sheet. Moaning Myrtle. "Long time, no see. After you _abandoned_ our school, I didn't think I'd ever see you again. I've so missed our little chats." She paused a long moment. "But what _are_ you doing here, Draco?"

Romilda blinked. Draco? Draco _Malfoy_ , the Slytherin son of the Death Eater who left after his first year?

[Draco fell into a moment of stunned silence. He hadn't realized at the time Romilda heard his real name, hadn't even registered it had been spoken in all the chaos. The one consolation he could glean was that it didn't seem like she hated him for being a Malfoy.]

"Greetings, Myrtle. It's just a bit of plotting, that's all," Draco Malfoy explained, and by now her vision had cleared up enough to see him sweating. "I mean to sabotage the other contenders for the next task, and let Hogwarts take the lead."

Myrtle didn't speak for a few moments, hovering hesitantly. "You know…" she started slowly. "I suppose I shouldn't judge. I've been trying to help Angelica myself, even pulled a few mischievous tricks for her, but…that is a _lot_ of power you have there. And also..." She frowned, examining his brown robes. "Why are you helping Hogwarts?"

"Well, Myrtle," he said with airy nonchalance. "You know I'm a Slytherin at heart. But let's keep this between us, okay? I don't want to spoil the surprise."

Another long pause. "I'm sorry, but I don't think I can—"

Romilda heard a hiss, saw an explosion of green light. The ghost stood completely still.

"What the—" Draco's voice rose. "Did you just cast _Imperio_ on a _ghost_?"

"Yes." Boris shrugged, not taking his eyes off her. "Imprint of a living creature is still a creature. I can control her."

Draco cursed, ran a sweaty hand through his hair. "She won't stay under your power forever, and we can't kill a ghost or wipe her memories. She'll talk eventually."

Carefully, hands on her knees, Romilda lifted herself up to a sitting position, and then gingerly stood. She saw Myrtle, floating three feet in the air, her eyes vacant and her face placid.

"I have a plan," said Boris. "Do not worry. Myrtle, look at me."

The ghost blinked, glancing at Boris.

"Go into the school and pass through the common rooms. Make yourself seen. Act natural, but don't answer any questions in detail. Then, come back here and plunge yourself into the water, staying there for three days. After that, go the Forbidden forest and never come out."

With a vacant smile, Myrtle floated away.

"I see," said Draco. "Ghosts cannot be killed, but a high dose of explosive energy _could_ fry her brain. What will you do if it doesn't work?"

Boris was about to say something, but Romilda responded, "I'll be on the look out for her. If necessary, I'll Imperius her again. I'll make sure she isn't a problem."

Both Draco and Boris turned to her with a look of frank disbelief. She shrugged, the pounding in her heart urging her on. "This is my fault. It's not Boris's responsibility to clean up my mess, so I'll do what needs to be done. You can trust me."

 _They won't hire me if I'm not reliable, and then I'll never see Draco Malfoy, never get to stand by his side, feel his magic coursing through me…_

Draco hesitated a long moment, and then he nodded sharply. "She is your responsibility. Find a solution."

She felt elation mingled with relief. She'd prove her worthiness, even if it took everything she had.

[Draco's heart slowly calmed down as the memory faded. He exhaled, and leaned back against Durmstrang's couch. Then, fingers shaking, he started taking notes.]

* * *

There were quite a few things Hermione liked about having an almost-boyfriend. The first thing was that she could bother him whenever she wanted for hugs. The second thing was laughing at each other's jokes. And the third, so far, was that he seemed to love spending time with her. Hogmeade trips, eating dinner together, staying out late on watch—she never had to ask twice.

Yet, while these were all wonderful things, they didn't seem like valid enough reasons to make him an _actual_ boyfriend. Even so, she already knew she liked him. Maybe once they spent more time together, her feelings would deepen and grow. She really hoped so; he seemed like the kind of boy who would make an amazing boyfriend.

Still, she couldn't spend all her time with Dean. She wasn't going to be one of those girls who forgot her friends existed as soon as a boy appeared. So, she took a free half-hour before dinner to go see Harry.

Hermione entered his lab, hoping she'd find him there. He neglected his Auror mirror these days, or she would have called him.

The lab was empty. She called his name, and heard no answer.

She ran a finger along a dusty counter, considering her options. There was a back room he often secluded himself in, so she turned towards the steps to check, but hesitated when she saw an open notebook on his desk.

Hermione bit her lip. This was an invasion of privacy, and she knew it, but she got so…well… _curious_. Obviously, she couldn't look through the entire book, that would be _bad_ , but the journal was already open to a page…

As if it made it less wrong, she peeked over the table to see it at an angle.

 _Harry's plan for not being a complete jerk_

 _Step 1: How to talk to people_

 _1) Nod and say something encouraging when they're talking. Options include: That's interesting. Can you tell me more about that? Or, ask a specific question to show interest._

 _2) Rephrase what they said to show understanding before stating your own opinion (like Hermione does)._

 _3) Smile more._

Hermione pressed a hand to her mouth, battling a conflicting mix of emotions. She hadn't realized he needed to plan out how to use social skills, but it made sense that he would. It was so sincere, so _Harry_ that she couldn't help thinking it was completely adorable.

Now that she thought about it, he did seem to be more patient with people these days. He'd even held a conversation with Ron a few weeks ago. She noticed he'd scribbled little notes in the margins about new social skills he could try.

 _Umm, hang on…_ interjected her brain. _You're not actually attracted to this, are you? We're trying to get over Harry, and-_

"See anything interesting?"

She flinched away from the notebook, the sudden movement flipping a few pages. Harry stood in the open doorway to his back room, watching her.

"I'm sorry," she said, feeling her cheeks flaming.

He didn't say anything for a long moment, and then shrugged. "It's fine. You can look through my notebooks if you want, I'd just prefer that you ask first."

Harry took the notebook, flipped through it, a frown forming. "Hmm. Not a lot of equations in here. I suppose you want to know my deepest, darkest secrets?"

Her cheeks burned. "Maybe I do."

He stopped, blinking at her. Then he cleared his throat, putting the notebook away (somehow, without opening the drawer). "Perhaps someday you will, but reading this would be too easy."

Hermione cast about for something to say that wouldn't make things more awkward. "What are you working on right now?"

"A personal research project of sorts," he replied.

"Oh. Personal, does that…mean you can't tell me about it?"

He grimaced, rubbing a hand through his hair.

Her stomach dropped. There was a part of Hermione that always felt, deep inside, that Harry was hers. He would give her the shirt off his back if she asked him, battle dementors to save her, and go above and beyond to help her achieve her dreams. So the fact that he kept shutting her out, without even letting her know why, hurt worse than she'd thought it would.

What if she'd been _wrong_?

"Well, Harry?" she asked, when the silence stretched too long.

He sighed. "Very well. This might be a bit alarming, so just, umm…give me a chance to explain before you say anything, okay?"

With relief and a bit of curiosity, Hermione followed him into the back room. She passed through the doorway and stopped short, staring.

There were movies she'd seen that started like this, and usually it was the serial killer's hotel room. Every wall, every surface, was covered in newspapers and photographs, with lines connecting things, words circled and underlined. She took a step, and felt a newspaper crunching beneath her feet.

"What is this?" she asked, turning to observe everything. The headlines glared back at her. _Amelia Bones Spins Web of Lies_. _Seer Prophesies on the End Times_.

Harry stood, arms behind his back, like a general in his war room. "I'm trying to figure out what is going wrong in the Ministry."

###

Hermione drew her finger along the wall, trying to see where Harry made his connections. All the while, her heart was sinking.

 _This is big. Way, way bigger than I thought._

"Back in the hospital, I wanted to ask Remus and McGonagall about the bombings," said Harry. "But I realized the only reason they wouldn't have told me about this deeply personal issue already—attacks made against _me_ —was if they were shutting me out on purpose. So I decided I had to investigate for myself."

Some of the newpapers were Daily Prophet, but most were Muggle—the _Times_ , the _Daily Sun_. A few were even from other countries, clumsily translated in Harry's handwriting. "What did you find out so far?" she asked.

"Probably nothing you don't already know," said Harry. "I imagine you've heard everything from the Aurors."

"Well…try me," she said.

He examined the walls, gesturing to a section on the right. "There have been numerous attempted bombings around England. In Muggle newspapers, they've been attributed to different terrorist groups, but the reports are suspiciously vague on the details, or else the description sounds odd compared to what you'd _normally_ read in a Muggle news report. It reeks of a magical cover up."

He pointed to another part of the wall. "And here, I have my foreign news section. It's a bit sparse at the moment, but it's clear they're worrying over the Factions more than either of Magical England's newspapers. Incidentally, this project is teaching me quite a bit about Wizarding politics. Britain is behind the times politically, but they hold a titanic amount of authority in Europe. The Factionists' terror attacks are on the front page of every single news outlet I can find, eclipsing all other stories by a wide margin."

He crossed the room, scanning. "Ahh, and here we have our _Quibbler_ section. They keep prophesying the End of Times and the Death of Magic, as they do on a monthly basis. However, starting last September, the number of reports on Seer prophesies increased, in both the _Quibbler_ and other newspapers as well. And stranger than anything else has been the rise in alien probings."

"Wait, what?"

"That's what the _Quibbler_ and some fringe newspapers are calling it, anyway. People go missing. Sometimes they never return, but other times, they come back damaged. Memory loss, mental instability, or even total vegetative state. A few Muggle newspapers report there's a rise in animal attacks, people getting mauled to death. Around the same time, news reports from Spain state that the werewolves have declared support for the Factionists.

He crossed the floor to stand in the centre, near his world map. There were lots of pins strewn all over Europe, in multiple colours. "To sum it up, Muggles and wizards alike are being attacked by magical terrorists, the Factionists are recruiting powerful allies, and the rest of the world is terrified we're on the precipice of a third world war. You'd think this kind of news would make the front page of our papers, but no. The _Daily Prophet_ is speculating on who's attending the Minister's Birthday Gala this week."

Hermione swallowed, feeling the truth of his connections sinking in. Their weekly Auror meetings had dwindled by half. Even though Madam Bones had said everything was under control, every meeting she seemed more and more on edge.

"So, am I on the right track so far?" asked Harry, his voice tight. "Or is there some kind of restrictive code in place? 'Don't tell Harry about the prophecies, he might get _ideas_.'"

Hermione turned to him, biting her lip. His fists were clenched tightly, green eyes blazing with hostility. He glanced away from her, his jaw working.

Her eyes never left him. She wasn't scared of his anger. This time, he had a right to be angry.

After a few seconds, he exhaled, the tension gone from his voice. "Forget it. I understand if you can't tell me anything. The Ministry probably swears you to secrecy, and who knows, maybe they'll find out I'm seeking information and Obliviate me. But I can't just…not be _prepared_ , Hermione. If there's going to be a war, and _I'm_ a part of it, then I need to know everything I can."

"Why would you think you're involved?" she asked.

He gave her a searching glance, and then turned to another side of the wall. "Read these."

She got closer and peered at the news headlines.

" _Harry Potter is the antichrist," Factionists claim_

 _Boy-Who-Lived destined to destroy the world?_

 _Another statue of Harry Potter defaced in museum_

There were more; pictures of Harry with his eyes cut out, political posters showing Dumbledore and Harry in compromising positions, and Harry gleefully rounding up wizard children into a death kennel.

"I had to search for these, but not for long," said Harry quietly. "It's not exactly hard to get a hold of the Factionist publications when you're invisible. They're not trying to hide."

Swallowing, Hermione turned away. She thought back to just after the Christmas bombings, and to the warnings not to tell Harry anything. Was it to protect him? Or to protect the Ministry from being _associated_ with him?

 _What was the Ministry hiding?_

"I…don't even know what to say, Harry," said Hermione. "The Aurors have told me hardly anything, but I'm inclined to believe you're right."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Seriously? All those Auror meetings, the endless work assignments, and you're still operating on a civilian's information? I thought they'd trust you more than that."

"I'm still not technically an Auror, so maybe they _can't_ tell me. In any case, I agree with you. We need to be prepared. So…maybe I can help you with these," she said, pointing at his foreign news section. "I could gather more newspapers and translate them for you, at least from the Romance languages."

A flicker of surprise crossed his face, and then his gaze jerked down to the table, as if studying it.

"While I would appreciate the help," he said. "Think carefully before you say yes. You've got an image to maintain, after all, and I'm the Dark Lord Potter. Even Madam Bones was scared to have me within five feet of her."

"If anyone cares," she said. "Screw them."

He quirked a smile. "Very well. Be careful of Legilimency, then. In fact, I'd be suspicious of anyone asking too many questions. The Factionists are recruiting from everywhere, and even some Aurors might be on their side. I suspect the Ministry won't be too happy if they find out what we're doing, either."

They spent a bit longer in the room, until all those images of bombings and propaganda became too depressing. Harry and Hermione made their way back into his lab classroom.

"So, enough about my problems," said Harry. "How have you been?"

"Good," she said lamely. It felt trite to mention her news with all of this going on.

They were silent again, as it seemed there was no more to say.

"So, I heard you're going to the Spring Formal with Dean Thomas," said Harry, a touch too fast. "That sounds exciting."

"It's nothing, really," she said. "It's just a dance."

"Oh, but I thought…well, I assumed you were…" Harry pondered a moment, then continued hesitantly. "So, perhaps it's like those times you take someone to a dance to maintain social status? Even someone you don't have the slightest romantic interest in? If so, don't be afraid to admit it, I've been tempted by the same notion myself once, but eventually decided it wasn't worth the effort."

Hermione bit her lip. "Well, I can't say there's _no_ romantic interest, but we're not officially dating, or anything."

"Oh," he said. "Well, umm…that makes sense. I suppose it's none of my business, but why _him_ , Hermione? He doesn't seem like your…type."

His mouth twitched in some kind of spasm, and he turned away. Hermione blinked, trying to figure out what that meant. "I like a lot of things about Dean. He's smart, he's kind, and..." She hesitated. This didn't feel right. "He's a good guy."

Harry nodded. They were silent a long, uncomfortable moment. "But anyway," said Hermione. "Even if we are dating, I still plan on making time for my friends. You don't have to worry about me becoming one of _those_ girls."

"Of course. And you don't have to worry about me being jealous, either."

She stopped short. What?

Harry rubbed a hand through his hair, but he didn't elaborate. He seemed unsure what to do with himself. "Or angry," he added, with a half-hearted shrug. "I just…want you to be happy."

Her heart fluttered for a moment, her imagination running wild, before she shut it all down.

 _No. It can't be what it sounds like. Don't do this to yourself again, Hermione._

Even so, there was a part of her that reacted instinctively to his words, for reasons she couldn't entirely explain.

"Harry, I think I can translate a few newspapers tonight. Let's meet to discuss them tomorrow, okay?"

He blinked, stared at her. "Okay."

She turned to leave, then turned back. "Don't get distracted and forget."

"Don't worry. I won't."

"Good," she said, standing in the doorway. She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to figure out what it was she was forgetting. "I'm umm…I'm happy we're working together."

He smiled, fondness spreading over his face. "Maybe I shouldn't be, but so am I. Now, are you going to stand in my doorway forever? Your fans are going to worry if you don't show up for supper."

She laughed. "Well, I'll see you later."

* * *

One cold morning in Godric's Hollow, an old wizard and his dog went for a brisk stroll through the woods. After a few minutes, he picked up the pace, jogging as fast as his dog could run.

Running was one way the wizard stayed in shape. If he was being honest, he was much healthier now than when he was younger. All he ever did back then was sit hunched over a desk, scouring resources from the archives, or stare at documents he could no longer remember.

Such was the life of one who worked in service for the Line of Merlin. Everything about their work was secret, and in their deaths they remembered little of their life, holes where memories should be. While the wizard could not remember much of his past, he knew he was happier now than he'd ever been then. In a way, losing the memories had been a blessing.

When a child appeared on his path, the man stopped. She was young, probably only about four years old, swallowed up by a coat too big for her. It didn't make sense for her to be out alone.

The dog growled, but the wizard pulled his leash to silence him. "Are you alright, little girl? Where are your mummy and daddy?"

She smiled, her teeth unexpectedly sharp. "Right behind you."

Two people dogpiled him, pinning him to the ground. He cried out, but knew it was hopeless when another man ran past inches away, oblivious. The yellow-eyed woman met his gaze, tore through his Occlumency barrier like tissue paper. "Your job was to study Time," she said. "You handled the Ancients' artefacts. What do you know about the seven rings?"

It took him awhile to figure out what she was talking about. When he did, his answer surprised even himself.

"They will…eat the world. Their curses create…power."

"Do you know how?"

He fought back, the force of it breaking something inside his mind.

"Yes."


	45. Frustration

Chapter 45: Frustration

Hermione huddled beside a stack of foreign newspapers—French, Spanish, and Portuguese. The feather of her quill scratched against her chin as she mulled over the translation for one of the words.

A high pitched whining sound shattered her thoughts, making her jump for the 5th time that hour.

She glanced up at the two student scientists, who were frantically scrambling to make the Remembrall stop screaming. Normally, the lab was a quiet place to work, and Hermione had reasoned that she and Dean could hang out as soon as he was done.

But maybe it hadn't been such a good idea, after all.

"It's two swipes, Dean, _two_ —"

"I'm trying!" cried Dean, waving his hand over it. "You have to give me a second!"

The whining noise continued for five very long seconds.

"Dean, just forget it, I'll do it myself."

Padma wrenched the Remembrall out of his hands, fiddling with it to switch it off.

There was a moment of tense silence as Padma examined the ball for cracks, while Dean stared at her.

"Hey, I'm sorry," he said, his face burning red. "I really thought that modification would work."

"It wasn't a _bad_ idea," she said, her voice clipped. "But nothing we've tried so far today has changed a single thing. We've been working for weeks, and this spell _still_ has no concept of gradation whatsoever. Furthermore, we can't figure out if the problem is it's too sensitive to magic, not sensitive enough, or reacting to something _completely_ different.

"Right," said Dean slowly. "I know, we've still got a lot of work to do. I won't mess with the enchantments anymore if that bothers you."

"You are allowed to modify the spells if you want," she said, making notes and pushing her hair out of her eyes. "It's just that nothing is going as I'd planned, and I'd honestly prefer to be working alone right now."

"No, it's…come on, Padma, don't be like that."

They went back and forth for another few rounds. Hermione was starting to feel embarrassed by proxy, watching how petty the argument was becoming. Finally, Padma thrust a finger at Hermione. "Okay, look, she's been waiting for you for half an hour, so why don't you just pack up and go already?"

"She's not _waiting_ ," he insisted. "She's got work she's doing."

"Seriously?" Rolling her eyes, she gripped the Remembrall in her palm, shoving it in his face. "Not a chance. She's waiting on _you_. So stop mucking up _my_ workspace and go spend time with your _girlfriend_."

Dean flinched like she'd just slapped him. "Fine. I'll go, if that's what you want."

He stormed out of the room, Hermione scrambling to gather her newspapers so she could follow him.

Dean had stopped outside the door. Using his wand, he spelled away his perspiration, but he still looked agitated.

"Sorry you had to see that," he said, sighing in frustration. "She's normally not such a grouch."

"I'll say," responded Hermione. "I understand she's frustrated, but she didn't have to blow up at you like that."

Dean started to reply, but trailed off. "Wait a minute…that's it!"

He shouldered his pack, shoved his wand in his pocket. "I've got to go," he said. "I'll owl you a message later tonight, okay?"

He ran off down the hall, Hermione blinking after him.

Did he forget they had plans for this afternoon?

* * *

March 7th

 _Two days later_

In the library, Harry reviewed the translated newspapers, while Hermione poured over her reference book, _Une Histoire de Beauxbatons_. Every once in a while, he noticed her glance up, as if waiting for his reaction.

"Oh so _that's_ what that phrase means," he commented loudly. "I've been translating it wrong this whole time." His gaze flicked up to hers, and he caught her smile. He couldn't help himself. "Hermione Granger: Auror, scientist, teacher, celebrity, _and_ professional translator. Leave some jobs for the rest of us."

Hermione went back to reading, still with that self-satisfied smile. It was their second official meeting on the Secret of the Ministry. It was going well, though she'd been a bit distracted that afternoon. "I've got a name for you to look up," he said. "Terrence Belmont."

"Belmont, Belmont…" Hermione murmured, flipping through the pages of her book. "He's not listed, but it looks like his brother, Maurice Belmont, graduated from Beauxbatons 15 years ago."

"Interesting," Harry said, rubbing his chin. "That makes the third squib we've identified from France so far who has suffered traumatic brain injuries, which may-or-may-not-but-probably-are Factionist related. He's an expat, emigrated with his entire family to England. I know you translated this report, so you probably remember, but Terrence is currently in critical condition at Mercy Hospital. His family cannot be found."

Hermione nodded. "He was a…military attorney, right?"

"Bingo." Harry made a note in his notebook. "So that makes twelve squib victims who work in professional fields, and twenty who are blue collar." He frowned, examining his list. _Something there I'm missing._ "I might be able to find more information about the victims after I visit the university library, see what the internet denizens have to say."

Hermione nodded, then went silent as a classmate walked by. She glanced away at the open window, waiting for him to pass.

Harry went right on with his work, ignoring the wandering student. Hermione didn't want to make their meetings too obvious, and so Harry had chosen a secluded corner of the library, partially blocked by a shelf and muted by quieting charms. Aside from that, acting completely normal seemed their best defence. In spite of Hermione's misgivings, experience told him that hiding in plain sight looked _much_ less suspicious than secret meetings in locked rooms did.

The student was gone, but Hermione still stared at the window, lost in thought. Harry cleared his throat.

"So the news reports show that the Factionists are gaining political momentum across Europe," he said. "Eventually, world leaders will be forced to take a stance. Most haven't made official decisions yet, but I read recently that Scandinavia seems bent on declaring neutrality."

"That's how it is in France right now," said Hermione. "There was a debate recently as to whether France will supply aid if Britain goes to war. There were arguments both for and against, but the government doesn't seem to want to involve themselves."

Harry nodded. "The first and foremost thing that most people do is nothing, and that's exactly what might hurt us in the end. Eastern Europe in particular has a lot of Faction sympathizers who might sway things in the wrong direction, politically."

"I think that's where the werewolf and veela conclaves are located," said Hermione. "As well as a few squib communities."

"Hmm…right," said Harry, turning an idea over in his mind. "You know, I've been thinking this whole time that something feels off. The Factionists have nothing against squibs, so why target them? At least among the wizard victims there's a pattern, as most are in positions of influence related to the Ministry. So I'm thinking…either the squib attacks are fear tactics, or maybe…collateral damage?" He paused, frowned. Still didn't seem right. "Also, it's going to be hard to get accurate statistics if all we have to go off of is what makes the news. Incidentally, I bet there's _somebody_ on the internet selling medical records."

Hermione smiled absently, but didn't say anything. She was tapping her quill idly on the paper, her gaze far away.

Harry felt a twinge of something. Jealousy, irritation.

 _Sooo are we here to talk, or are we here to stare out windows?_

 _Patience,_ his brain chided. _Remember Rule 17._

 _Yeah, yeah._ He set his feelings aside.

"Here's a weird story," said Harry. "Comes from a small Muggle newspaper in Cornwall county. Apparently a man was found dead near a park, coroner's report says he was attacked by wolves."

Rousing herself, Hermione asked, "That's the 5th one in that general area. What's in Cornwall?"

"Godric's Hollow."

She blinked. "That's where your biological parents lived, right?"

Harry nodded. "Nowadays, it's home to a lot of retired wizards. Our victim—an elderly gentleman—was walking in a community park and was discovered by a witness, still alive. He was rambling."

"About what?"

"He kept apologizing for breaking his vows. Then he had a seizure and died." Harry tented his fingers. "So I think the main question is, what were his vows, and do they have anything to do with why he was a target?"

"Hmm," said Hermione, her quill tracing patterns on the page. "Good question. Let me think…"

There were a few moments of silence, where she continued doodling.

"Hermione?"

She looked up, and Harry tried to be Patient and Considerate. "Something wrong?"

She shrugged. "No…I don't know. Guess I'm just waiting."

"For what?"

She stared at the table, biting her lip. His frustration rose. Harry didn't _want_ to be upset about this, that she wasn't nearly as invested as he was. It wasn't like it was her job to listen to him ramble. But it was hard to be putting in so much effort, on something so _important_ to him, and only be meriting half her attention.

"Umm," said Harry. "If you want to leave and meet again later—"

"No, it's fine." Hermione sighed. "I'm really sorry. I _know_ this is important, and I want to work with you, it's just..." She put her head in her hands, burying them in her hair. "Give me a second."

Harry's irritation drained away, leaving him somehow in a worse situation. Harry never knew how to react to her emotions. He wouldn't know if what he said was right or wrong until he saw her response, so he would question everything, second guess every choice, and ultimately just do nothing.

Which was not at _all_ compliant with Rule 13, but uggh. How was he even supposed to interact with her without the rulebook? It's not like he could follow his instincts and just pull her into a hug, kiss her and tell her not to cry.

Then again…why was she sad? Hope rose as he considered an option. Could it be that—

A letter fluttered in from the window, dropped by an owl into Hermione's lap. Apparently, it was what she was waiting for. She beamed, tore open the letter and read eagerly. As she scanned the page, her face clouded in confusion.

"It's from Alastor Moody," said Hermione. "It's umm…does this look real to you?"

Harry took the offered letter, scanned it.

 _To Hermione, the first Granger, I hereby challenge you to a duel._

* * *

Hermione stood at one end of the duelling room, Mad Eye at the other.

"They eyed each other with murderous intent," said Tonks, snacking on crisps. "Hermione slowly stalks the floor, while her attacker watches and waits."

Tonks would never forget her first fight with Alastor Moody. She'd been a cocky young Auror who thought a few duelling wins meant she could best anyone, even the most volatile Auror in modern history.

She'd been knocked out in less than two seconds.

The Innervate spell brought her back so she could be kicked around the floor until she managed to survive for 10 seconds. She'd learned a lot of valuable lessons that day, including the need for creative use of her morphing ability.

Hermione stood before the mad wizard, her body tense as a bowstring pulled back.

"So, Alicorn Princess," said Mad Eye, readying his wand. "Let's see what you got."

In a split second, Mad Eye wordlessly fired off blasts from his wand, red and purple arcs of raw power that Tonks knew would leave jagged scars.

Hermione sprang into action. She ran, jumped, and dodged every spell, even the attacks that covered an entire section of the floor. It was like watching a ping pong ball in a tennis match. Hermione wasn't just fast, she was _light_ , able to bounce off the floor and walls when necessary.

Or rather, when she was scared. Her abilities always went into overdrive then.

Auror Tonks had found the best way to deal with Hermione was to confuse her, and Tonks' abilities were useful for that. Hermione never knew when an invisible extra hand was going to shoot out of nowhere, with an _extra wand_.

"Not bad," said Mad Eye, wheezing a little. "But what do you do when you can't dodge?"

Mad Eye kept firing, using an invisibility spell to hide his location, which Hermione broke almost instantly. And _that_ would be Tonks' fault, she overused invisibility. Then, a few seconds later, Mad Eye was tied up and stuck to a wall, his wand flying from his hand and into Hermione's.

Tonks clapped, standing up from her seat as a few crisps fell out of her lap.

"That's my girl!" she cried. "Besting Mad Eye on her first try!"

Her mentor glowered at her, and she knew she'd pay for that later. But Hermione's warm, surprised smile—as if she didn't believe she had it in her—made it worth it.

Mad Eye muttered gruffly, and the trap released him. Tonks was starting to believe that Mad Eye did not require wands, they were just for show.

"That's a fancy trap spell," said Mad Eye. "Where'd you learn that one, kid?"

"Oh, Hermione knows all the traps," said Tonks. "Twine, vines, trap door, freezing, giant ooze, sleep and lethargy charms, sticky fingers. That's how she fights. Although with me, it usually takes a bit longer than _2 minutes_ to get stuck—"

" _Incarcerous!"_

Tonks was now trapped against the wall, a second spell silencing her.

"The spell I just used against my insufferable protege normally takes about thirty minutes to naturally release the victim," said Mad Eye, a wand once more in his hand. "Our Researchers on the Ninth Floor have discovered a simple remedy, however. _Incarcerite_."

The bonds burst, bits of twine biting into Tonks' skin.

"Oww!" she cried, casting an offended look at her mentor.

"It's quite easy to cast a counterspell to any trap," explained Mad Eye. "All you need to do is change the last syllable by one vowel sound. The results might be explosive, but they're effective." He picked up his staff, leaning against it. "It's an advantage the Aurors have for now, but don't expect it to be for long. You've heard the phrase, 'Two people can keep a secret if one of them is dead.' Our enemies will find out, sooner or later."

Mad Eye pointed his staff at Hermione. "What are you going to do, Ms. Alicorn, if your traps don't work and you can't dodge?"

Hermione considered it carefully. "Well…I'd use a shield, of course, until I can find an exit—"

Mad Eye laughed, loud and riotous. "So you're _that scared_ to hurt people, huh? It does not even _cross your mind_ to attempt an offensive spell."

She blinked. "But…why should I, if I don't need to? Isn't the point of being an Auror to protect people?"

Mad Eye surveyed her a moment. "Fire an offensive spell at me right now."

She blinked. "What…sort of spell?"

"Surprise me," he said. "Don't worry, I can take it. And not some piddling Bat Bogey like we're 1st years."

Hermione still hesitated. _Oh come on,_ thought Tonks. _You've hit me with hexes loads of times._

While Hermione wracked her brain for a spell, Mad Eye's cane thumped the floor. "What's the incantation and wand movement for the Blasting Curse?"

She blinked. " _Confrigo._ The movement is pointing one's wand at the target."

"What does the _Expulso_ curse do?"

"It causes explosions," replied Hermione. "Enough to knock a wizard into a wall."

"Name a medical spell that can be used offensively."

"The Entrail-expelling curse," she said, a slight tremor to her voice. "It can be used to deal with constipation, but also…can eviscerate someone."

Mad Eye clapped slowly.

"So, all the knowledge is up there," he said, pointing to her temple. "But you don't ever use it."

She shook her head. "I would, if I ever needed to."

Mad Eye pulled a crumpled paper from the pocket of his duster, along with a quill. He jotted a few things down, muttering as he did so. "Practice these spells," he said, handing it to her. "I want to see you performing them perfectly against a target. None of them will kill a wizard, so I don't want to see you flinch. Show me you're more than the "bowl of wet grapes" that the papers make you out to be."

Hermione nodded, restraining herself from protesting. She left a few minutes later, claiming she had somewhere to be. Mad Eye turned to Tonks.

"As for you," he said, glaring. "I don't know if I should hex you or give you a medal."

"Huh?" said Tonks.

"She's not a fighter, not by any sense of the definition. In fact, her amount of restraint is appalling. And yet, she never would have bested me if it wasn't for your training…though I was holding back, of course."

Tonks shrugged, admitting honestly. "I didn't really do anything, we were just trying to be a little creative in our battles."

"Exactly," he said nodding. "And to be honest, she'll be thanking you for that soon." He took a swig of his drink, wiped with the back of his hand. "I suspect we won't be training for much longer."

* * *

Hermione walked to her guard duty. In spite of her win against Mad Eye, she felt a familiar sense of being Bad.

She'd once been told by Dumbledore that she should be "happy to be a sidekick," and not a day later she'd gathered up a group of girls to picket outside his office. Being _female_ didn't make you a second rate hero, nor did it make you any less courageous or intelligent. Ever since then, she'd tried her best to prove that, out of stubbornness if nothing else.

And then, today happened.

She'd promised Harry to help him with his research into the Ministry. His name was being slandered by terrorists, their nation was on the brink of war, and it _definitely_ was the sort of puzzle that a heroine should be trying to unravel. Instead, she'd spent the entire session mooning over a _boy_ , of all things, proving herself to be a terrible friend and a worse heroine.

She was acting like the ditzy sidekick, existing soley for comic relief. Or worse, the girl who only matters because she _falls in love_ with the hero.

And maybe Dean _was_ a hero. After all, he'd felt compelled to solve a grand quest against impossible odds, and was probably holed up in a cave somewhere with heroic music playing in the background. Nevermind the longsuffering love interest he'd left behind, she'd wait until he returned victorious. Hermione hadn't seen or heard from Dean for the last two days, and it was all feeling so appallingly familiar that she was starting to get really, really upset about it. She hated feeling so weak and emotional, but even _now_ all she wanted was to see him.

At least she'd put up a good fight against Alaster Moody, that was a win for the heroine side of her.

So when her night watch was over, and Hermione _did_ get the letter she'd been waiting for, it made her feel a whole bunch of things in addition to relief.

 _Come meet me in the lab, Hermione. I want to see you._


	46. Moondust

Chapter 46: Moondust

Clutching his files, Harold rushed through the hall, knocking rapidly on Madam Bones' office door. He'd told her what he could by Auror mirror, but the rest he needed to say in person. Immediately.

Madam Bones opened the door, and Harold remembered the last time he'd come for his report, how she'd torn him down. How he'd failed, again, to get answers.

Now, finally, he had one.

"What is it?" she said, her cutting gaze warning him that _this had better be good_.

He shut the door, emitting in a breathless gasp, "I think I know how they're getting things past the security system."

Silencing him with a sharp gesture, she rose from her desk, casting a long list of security charms.

"Speak," she said.

Harold set his folder down on the desk, opening it. "They're using a magical amulet."

She examined the stylized drawing of the enchanted object, which graced the top of the pile.

"…A necklace," repeated Madam Bones.

"Well, yes, a necklace. It's ancient magic. I only discovered it because my brother used to work with the South African government, and he heard a fable about it. A mother loses her son in the mountains, and the strength of their love created a bond that sent him food and supplies, until he found his way safely back to her."

He pushed up his glasses, the bridge of his nose sweaty. "It was just a hunch, but I did some research in the Archives." He paused, spreading his notes to find another page. "It turns out the fairy tale describes a real object from around Merlin's time, so powerful that it could by-pass our security systems. The amulet comes as a matched set, and any object can be passed through them, from one person to the other."

" _Any_ object?"

Harold nodded. "Yes. Magical or non-magical, large or small, and across any distance. If an item is moved between countries, it will not be logged into the customs system, due to the magical properties that obscure its identity."

Madam Bones said sharply, "But you don't _know_ they have this. There is no conclusive proof."

"Well…no, I suppose not. But if they do, it would explain a lot of what's going on. We could do more investigation to confirm it."

The director searched through the files. "I don't suppose you found the instructions on how to make one?"

Harold shook his head. "No, Ma'am. I found this information in the Hall of Memories, not the other section of the archives."

The Artefact Archives existed in two types. The first was the Repository of Magical Artefacts. It included vast quantities of written documentation about spells, enchantments and magical objects. Every known magical item within England had a file there, including directions on how to create and destroy them. While it was a treasure trove of information for any researcher or historian, the Repository was mostly used by the Customs Department. Every time an enchanted item entered the country, it triggered a spell that cross referenced the information in the Repository, and logged it in Harold's records.

And then there was the Hall of Memories, an extension of the Hall of Prophecy. This section recorded information from past wizards and witches—such as famous speeches, duels, and important events—that had been passed down through their collected memories. This is where Harold had gone to find information about the magical amulet.

The Hall of Prophecy was, essentially, a giant pensieve. No one knew how it collected its information, or why it chose specific memories to record and not others. Perhaps it was due to the importance of the person, as Dumbledore and Grindelwald's experiences were extensively catalogued. But it also included mundane memories that seemed to have no purpose being there.

For various reasons, the Hall of Memories was not as frequently used as the Repository. For instance, it did not include _instructions_ on how to cast the spells and enchantments—that would be impossible due to the interdict of Merlin—nor did it promise that the information from the memories was accurate. However, if you knew what you were looking for, it could be very useful. After weeks of searching, Harold was able to find the transcribed memories of a witch and wizard in Norway that had each worn a set. Their memories showed exactly what the amulets looked like, and how they were used, and their limitations.

It had taken him _ages_ to find the information, since the filing system in there was crap, but he didn't think asking to overhaul the data system was appropriate at the moment.

"The enchantment seems to involve an act of sacrifice," continued Harold. "The caster would need to love someone enough to imbue a part of themselves into the object. We could start a file for it in the Repository, make sure future entries are logged, but…I'm not sure if that will help us find who currently holds it."

"No, now that the amulet is in England, our logs won't pick it up," said Madam Bones tartly. "Unless the person who wears it leaves or re-enters the country. Such a _ridiculous_ flaw in our system." She stood, pacing back and forth behind her desk. "Start the file anyway. Contact the Department of Foreign Affairs and tell them to further restrict the issuance of port keys to level 7—not just intercontinental, but inter-district. I'll have to speak to the Minister about restricting Apparition within the country as well. We'll put the Unspeakables on the task if we have to."

Harold didn't know if that was possible—it would be like outlawing running.

"We'll need to discuss this further at a later time. For now, get back to work."

Harold left, the first time he'd been dismissed without a scathing admonition.

Progress.

* * *

When the young Customs Director left, Amelia continued pacing, lost in thought.

Thirty years. That was how long she'd been head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. In that time, she'd sacrificed everything to fight Voldemort. Her parents, her brother and his family, countless brave friends and Aurors. All of them, killed in a senseless war. If it had lasted much longer, Britain would have had no heroes left to give.

And here they were again, at the brink of another war.

Amelia wished more than anything else to avoid that, but the pressure was crushing. She reminded herself, always, that it was for her niece Susan—for the Aurors and their families—that she did this, and that helped her carry on.

But she was going to lose.

This morning, her Intelligence Operatives informed her of several gruesome facts. The Factionists had bombed another building, this one in the English countryside. No one was hurt, which added to a disturbing trend. Why had none of these bombings killed anyone?

Because it was a distraction.

Amelia at first thought it was a terror tactic, meant to scare the Ministry into capitulating. But if the enemy had a portal that allowed unlimited access to weapons transport, then they would have gone bigger. They could have nuked the entire city of London by now, and they had not done so. But these small bombings were still tying up her resources, forcing her to send her Aurors off searching for information about where the next bomb would be, consigning many of her best operatives to security detail.

Meanwhile, the enemy had time to plan, time to set their pieces in motion…but for what?

There were spies in the Ministry, this she knew. She'd worked hard to eradicate them. The ones she'd captured had revealed little—most of them were low ranking members, and all they spoke of was "power." They wanted power, they deserved it, and the Ministry was taking it from them. Magic was being lost, it was all Harry's fault, and it was time for the people to get what was theirs.

This is what the low ranking pawns wanted—at least, before they died by self-suicide. But what did their leader want? Who was their leader?

More information from the Intelligence Operatives had given her a suspect: Bellatrix Black.

A woman with long, blonde hair had been spotted on stage at the Factionist meetings. She delivered rousing speeches to engage the crowd and spur them on to acts of violence. She'd recently been exchanged with another woman with curly black hair, who delivered the same speeches. The Factionists were getting bolder, not hiding their identities with Polyjuice anymore.

Which meant they likely had powerful magical defences that she wasn't currently aware of.

Amelia knew that Bellatrix hated the Order of the Phoenix, and Dumbledore by extension. She blamed them for her imprisonment, for defying Voldemort, and because Dumbledore attacked her sister, Narcissa. Her involvement explained some of the senseless violence, and well as why several people had recently arrived at St. Mungos, driven to mental insanity by their attackers.

Amelia frowned. None of this explained why the victims were targeted, however. Many of them were leaders in their fields—professors, lawyers, scientists—but not all were supporters of Dumbledore. Some were not affiliated with the Ministry or the Order of the Phoenix in any way whatsoever. She refused to believe it was random targets—unless Bellatrix was crazier than she'd once thought.

The only reason that made sense—based on their targets—was that the Factionists were seeking _information_. But, as of yet, they'd made no demands from her, no requests for the Ministry to release information from their vault. So it must be information she wouldn't be willing to give, or that she didn't have. But why terrorize innocents, why make themselves targets? Why not be more secretive, why not make _allies_ with people who actually had information to give?

Then again, perhaps all of this—the bombings, the spies, the people driven insane—could be a distraction too.

As hard as she tried, she couldn't find enough information to piece it all together. Dumbledore _might_ have figured it out, the crazy old loon, but he was gone. They'd lost their strongest wizards, and the Elder Wand, as well as access to the collection of Prophesies that might have shown them a way to win.

She pulled the Line of Merlin from her drawer. It did not react to her, as it never had.

The Wizengamot had lost their real leader, too.

Worse, she had no idea who the real heir might be.

The Ministry was not strong enough to handle another enemy as cunning as Voldemort. They did not have enough Aurors—they hadn't even taken on a new one in years. The heroes had all died, with only a remnant left behind. They needed someone strong enough to defeat an intelligent enemy.

Amelia had heard a prophesy last summer. The Seer said that Britain could be saved by the one who wields the Sword, leading them once more to victory in hard times, as did Godric Gryffindor. If there was the smallest chance this was true, then she could not wait any longer.

She cast her Patronus, and sent Mad Eye a message. It was time to put that piece into play.

"Go to Hogwarts. I want you to begin training Hermione Granger. Prepare her for a war."

* * *

Remus Lupin set up the last of the tables, shifting them into place with the flick of his wand. Candlelight illuminated his workstations, casting a cheery glow over the materials he'd set up for research. Spell books, tablets, and all the enchanted items from the Headmistress's office, plus a hundred more besides that he kept in a storage chest.

He surveyed his workspace with satisfaction, noting how much more room there was here than in his usual office in the Ministry. It also let in more light, or at least it would during the daytime. He could almost call himself content with his Hogwarts position: drinking tea, reading, and studying artefacts to his heart's content.

It would be perfect, if not for the _other_ part of his job.

He sighed and crossed the room to a desk he'd specifically set up for the purpose. He withdrew from within several objects and laid them on the table. They were small, nondescript, and highly illegal to own.

He picked one up, and got to work.

* * *

 _I'll be working in the lab,_ said his message, dated at 10:30 pm. _Come meet me. I want to see you._

Hermione took the stairs two at a time. She was trying not to fly too fast, but it was 11:09 and she was already late. Her heart fluttered with expectation and fear as she got closer, her hesitation growing into hope. He'd asked for her, wanted to see her, maybe he _wasn't_ trying to avoid her after all…

She found the lab, abruptly stopping to take a deep breath and, by old habit, ran a hand to smooth her hair into some semblance of order.

Heart pounding, Hermione opened the door, surprised to hear voices within.

"Come on, Padma!" cried Dean, slamming some papers on the lab table. "This new spell is going to work! I checked it over and over, just to be certain before I told you. I used the balloons the Weasleys made, and even if their invention was a failure, I know the enchantments they used are always reliable. We can use their spell to make the Remembrall sense magic in increments, maybe even different _types_ of magic."

"I know," said Padma, standing still as a statue. "I'm not doubting its usefulness, or your abilities."

"So, then, why don't you want to test it out?"

A frustrated sigh. "I said I _will_ , Dean."

"No, you said you'll do it _later_ , when I'm not around to help you." Dean folded his arms. "I'm trying to be understanding, and I know you have different work habits than I do, but I can't help but think that you _are_ doubting my abilities."

"Dean…"

"No, I want you to be honest with me. Am I not smart enough for you, Padma? Do you think I'm dead weight that you have to carry around? Because I'm not leaving this project, it's just as much my work as it is yours."

Padma, who'd seemed so calm up against Dean's rage, finally snapped.

"Yes, it's our project!" she cried, her hand beating her chest. "It was always ours, from the beginning, back when we were testing with Faraday cages. I wanted to see this project through, I believed in you and your vision. You're smart, you're brave, you're charming and handsome and I…I've been so stupid."

Her eyes dropped to the table, tears filling them. Hermione felt a pang of something _awful_ running through her chest, a premonition, but she couldn't look away.

"You kept spending time with her," she said softly. "You invited her to our project, and you would light up when she was around. I just felt so angry, and I couldn't force her to leave, but I couldn't be around you both without feeling sick. I know, I was wrong to push you away, but I…desperately wanted you to light up like that for me, and you never did." Her shoulders hunched. "Sometimes I feel like I'm just a brain to you. A person you use until you don't need me anymore."

"No!" Dean grasped her shoulders. "You're so much more than that, Padma! Give yourself some credit!"

"Then why didn't you ask _me_ to the dance?"

There was a moment of silence, where Hermione's heart felt wrenched even further into misery. Dean _was_ looking at Padma now, with raw, confusing emotion.

"I honestly thought you didn't want to go," he said. "You never said anything about it."

"I asked the Weasleys to make those dance shoes," she said, her mouth twisting into a pained smile. "Because I thought if I could dance, then maybe I would make a suitable partner for you, and then I would ask you myself. But then the shoes didn't work, and I didn't have the courage. I kept thinking that you wouldn't want me, you'd just take me out of pity, wishing you'd had a partner who was fun and flirty."

"Never," he said, shaking his head. "I would have enjoyed every moment."

Hermione pressed a hand to her chest, her world spinning. The other hand gripped the door frame.

"What am I to you, Dean?" Padma whispered, tears falling. "Because you're the world to me."

He didn't say anything for a long moment, his eyes studying her. "Padma…it's…I think I…"

In that moment, Hermione's hand crunched a hole in the door frame, and they both turned to look. Dean's face drained of colour. "Hermione!"

"It's okay, Dean," she said, her voice trembling. "You don't have to explain anything."

She wished so badly that she hadn't been found out, that she would have had time to process all she'd seen before she'd been forced to do this.

Dean seemed distressed and guilty, though he had no reason to be. He could have kissed Padma, and it wouldn't even be cheating, not really, no. Because he'd never really been hers, had he?

"Hermione, I don't want you to take this the wrong way, we were just—"

"Take her to the dance, Dean," said Hermione. "It's clear that she wants to go with you. You spent all this time working on the project, instead of talking to me, but really, you were doing it to make her proud." Hermione's voice caught. Attempting to smile and be magnanimous was too difficult, so she just said, "I hope you both have a good time. Goodnight."

She fled the room before her heart could burst.

* * *

Daphne and Neville spent their Friday afternoon as they always did, studying Herbology in the conservatory.

Neville huddled beside a small row of potted plants, pruning them carefully. Daphne sat on a cushion, highlighting in her Herbology textbook to prepare for midterms.

Her eyes kept wandering from the page over to him. Usually, while he worked, he would ramble about plants, excited to find someone who would listen, but today he was quiet. She studied his face, his downturned mouth hinting at sadness.

"What's wrong, Neville?" she asked.

Neville shrugged. "Had a bad day."

"Why?" He kept pruning, and she closed her book. "Come on, you can tell me. I'm a good listener."

"I suppose…" he sighed. "It's so embarrassing to talk about. But maybe it will help."

He set down his sheers, turning to sit cross legged on the grass, facing her.

"I…umm…I asked a girl I like to the dance, and she rejected me."

Daphne tried hard to hide her surprise. He'd asked someone else, and not her?

"Who was it?" asked Daphne.

"Luna," he replied. "And she didn't just reject me, she taunted me. She claimed she had an alien fiancé. If she'd just said no, then maybe everyone wouldn't have started laughing."

Daphne remained silent. She wasn't entirely sure it _wasn't_ true. Not that she believed in aliens, of course, but if they _were_ …well, if you'd placed a bet on who would snag an interplanetary boyfriend first, there was no way Luna wouldn't win.

Neville sighed. "This whole time, I thought if I finally got up the courage to talk to her, she would like me. In my daydreams, we always had these amazing conversations. She would smile and laugh with me, we would tell each other all our dreams, but…"

He shrugged, his fingers playing with a fallen leaf. "She doesn't even want to be my friend. She'd prefer an imaginary boyfriend over someone who is right in front of her." He swallowed. "Maybe I never really knew her. I was in love with someone who doesn't exist."

Daphne placed a hand on his shoulder. "Don't be so hard on yourself. You loved her with all your heart, and I think that's amazing. Maybe someday soon you'll find a girl who appreciates that about you."

"But where would I even find someone like that?"

Her heart pounded, urging her to tell him.

"Oh just…around."

It occurred to her that if Neville could confess his feelings, then well…why couldn't she?

"I don't have a date to the ball yet either. So, if you want," she said, trying to sound light-hearted, "We could go together."

He smiled softly, and shook his head. "Thanks, but you don't need to be my pity date."

"It's not a pity date!" she exclaimed. "I really, really like you, Neville!"

Neville froze, realization hitting him, and she wished she could stuff the words back in her mouth. She hadn't planned to let him know her true feelings until _after_ he'd agreed to go as friends, and then she'd amaze him by arriving in a beautiful gown, and they'd have a romantic moment while slow dancing...

He didn't speak for a long, long moment, and then he said, "Oh."

She'd never thought one word could hurt so much. He said nothing more, so she prodded, "Well? Is that a no, or…"

"Umm…I don't know. I never thought of you that way before."

Her heart plummeted. Never? Still, years of unrequited love had prepared her for this. She didn't want to live in this limbo anymore, and she knew a way out.

Squaring her shoulders, she said, "Then start thinking of me that way."

She leaned forward to kiss him.

Eyes widening in alarm, he jumped back. Daphne fell forwards, her mouth connecting hard against his chin. In a daze, she pressed a finger against her bruised mouth, but it didn't hurt, dwarfed by the immense confusion about what had happened.

Frazzled and anxious, Neville reached for her, "Daphne, are you okay? I'm sorry—"

She felt her entire body going numb from sheer shock and embarrassment.

 _So, that's what you think of me._

She scrambled off the floor, to her feet.

 _You're afraid to even touch me._

"Daphne?"

She turned and fled the room.

* * *

 _Please talk to me, Hermione. I feel really bad about what happened._

Lying in bed the evening after the Awful Event, she read Dean's letter with equal parts scorn and complete disinterest.

Sure, she missed him, and what they could have been. In all likelihood, she would never find love again and be alone forever.

But Dean was suffering too, she guessed, from being _embarrassed_. But since he had a real-not-fake girlfriend now, she decided that as far as she was concerned, he could go right on suffering.

A small quiet voice insisted. _You know you wanted him to be happy._

Hermione trembled, tears falling down her cheeks again.

 _I know, but…why does everyone get to be happy but me?_

Hermione bit her lip, the press of her alicorn teeth almost cutting her.

Harry ran away from her. Boris had cursed at her. Dean liked her, but chose a normal, Slytherin girl instead.

The unspoken fear, the one she kept hidden deep, deep down, rose up.

 _Nobody will ever love me because I'm a freak._

Her mind tried to show her counterexamples of loyal fans who adored her, but she steadfastly ignored them. Those were false praise. Everyone who'd really known her, who she'd tried to make a connection with, turned away eventually.

Someday, everyone her age would pair up, and she would live on as the protector of their children, and their children's children…

She curled up in her bed, scrunching the warm blankets up to her nose.

 _You're sixteen,_ her mind reasoned. _You've got plenty of time to find not stupid science boys. You won't be alone forever._

Hermione sighed, bit her lip again, and waited for the hole in her heart to heal.

* * *

A few hours later, she glanced at the clock. _Friday, 11:00 pm._

Hermione sat up, noticing the chocolate smears all over her night clothes. Grimacing, she cast the cleaning spell on her pyjamas, and made her way down to the kitchens. If she planned to make it through the weekend, she needed more supplies.

When she arrived, she saw Daphne Greengrass, sobbing into a bowl of chocolate swirl. Blinking back her tears, their eyes met.

They observed each other in silence. It was the sort of sad that didn't need words, but was instantly recognized when seen, especially when you were going through it yourself.

"In this place," Daphne said. "We don't count calories."

"What are calories?" answered Hermione.

Nodding in solidarity, Daphne pushed an open carton of rocky road in Hermione's direction.

After that, it wasn't long until the sugar rush dominated the conversation.

"Boys are soooo stupid," said Daphne, drizzling chocolate syrup on her Cherry Garcia. "Who needs them?"

"Yeah," said Hermione, digging into her third bowl of rocky road, topped with bananas, peanut butter, and triple fudge caramel syrup.

"You know what I don't get? With all this magic we have, why haven't witches invented jerk repellent bracelets yet?"

"Oh, those would go flying off the shelves!" replied Hermione, repeatedly stabbing a bit of frozen banana. "What I wouldn't give for a _stupid_ _science_ boy repelling charm."

"Uggh, you're right. Let me tell you, Neville is _such_ an idiot, one time he…well there was that other time…" Daphne trailed off.

"Wait, Neville?" Hermione knew him as the sweetest boy in Hufflepuff, which was saying something. " _He_ rejected you?"

"Yeah," said Daphne. "Why, who rejected you?"

"Dean Thomas," she replied.

Frowning, they both spent a moment deliberating over their bowls of ice cream.

"Uggh, it's so hard to even find things to hate about them!" complained Daphne, throwing up her hands. "What are we supposed to complain about?"

"I know!" cried Hermione. "They're perfect gentlemen and it's not fair!"

"But you know what, it doesn't matter," assured Daphne, patting Hermione's arm. "They rejected _us_ , so they obviously don't know what's good for them. Therefore, idiots."

Hermione nodded sharply. "That's right!"

"I mean," continued Daphne, waving her spoon in circles. "Look at you. You're _Hermione Granger_ , for crying out loud. You're practically the most famous celebrity in Britain. Who's he waiting for, Mariah Carey?"

"Thank you," she was smiling. "And you're easily the most gorgeous girl in Slytherin, not to mention the sweetest, who would seriously turn you down?"

"Aww, thank you," Daphne responded, scraping at her bowl. "Oh man, where did all the ice cream go?"

"I don't know," said Hermione, wiping chocolate off her chin. "House elves, I bet."

"Well, that does it, we're going to need more ice cream," said Daphne. "Come on, let's buy something chocolate, sprinkles and probably waffle cones."

Arms linked, they set off for Hogsmeade.


	47. The Last Dance

Chapter 47: The Last Dance

March 9th, 1996

Harry sat on the floor in the dark, surrounded by a kaleidoscope of stars and planets, a small figure alone with his thoughts.

He could still remember the first time Professor Quirrell had shown him the star spell. Nothing Harry had seen since compared to the wonder of that moment. Seeing the stars and the planets in their beautiful, silent movements moved him almost to tears. He'd been convinced that there was something great and wonderful out there in the mysterious unknown that he would one day explore.

It was his mission and life's work, epitomized in a single image.

But now, the stars brought up different memories. Hermione, resting her head against his shoulder. Her excited laughter as she showed him her moon and stars manicure. Her silent wonder as she watched the stars with him.

He'd never realized until now, but in every fantasy where he'd travelled through space, she'd been by his side. It seemed like a given, the way things were meant to be. For the first time, he wasn't sure if she still wanted to go.

Or if _he_ wanted to, either.

 _You're being ridiculous,_ said his Slytherin side. _The hypothetical presence of a girl won't change the importance of your mission, and should not affect your work ethic. Get up. Now._

Harry remained motionless.

 _So is this who we are now?_ said Slytherin _. Pathetic. Do you not see the literal writing on these walls that have named you public enemy number one? Or how about the war that's starting with your name on it? The time for space travel off this rock encroaches closer and closer, and you're WASTING TIME on GIRLS._

Wrapping his arms around his knees, Harry stared at the dark, lonely night, feeling the coldness of space seeping into his soul.

 _Not to mention, doofus, your mission requires that—_

 _Don't speak to me thus,_ said Harry. _You're talking to the next dark lord._

 _What?_

 _Yesss,_ Harry's thoughts hissed the word. _Potter shall be a name to be feared. I'll start by burning down Hogsmeade, especially the Quibbler stand. Maybe cast a few innocents into the proverbial fire. Should I deface a monument of Dumbledore while I'm at it?_

 _And if the world gets destroyed while you have your pity party?_

 _Who cares. Screw the Zen Harry program, screw heroism. It's blood and gore from me from now on. After all, what reward did Quirrell and Dumbledore get, for all their years of sacrifice? Nada, zilch, zero. Might as well be a Voldemort, might as well go find happiness in the arms of sweet vengeance._

 _And what of your parents? Your friends? Will you let them die too?_

 _My parents—_

He stopped, snapping out of his irritation.

Harry was being publicly slandered by a terrorist organization, and it stood to reason they might escalate to violence. If they couldn't get to him, the next best thing would be to attack his family.

Harry scrambled to his feet, threw open the door to his lab, and marched out to the hallway. How in _Merlin's_ name had this never occurred to him before? He'd made plans to protect himself, after all, though that hadn't come to much besides 'stay at Hogwarts.' When it came to defence, it was the safest location by far. It could be he was subconsciously absorbing the Wizard tendency to _ignore_ Muggles, in which case he needed to have a serious conversation with his brain about responsible use of mental heuristics.

On his way to McGonagall, he passed Remus Lupin walking down the hall, avidly reading a parchment floating in front of him. Harry thought a few seconds, then said, "Remus, wait a minute. I have a question for you."

The man turned, blinking behind his reading glasses. It was said that the Sorting Hat made seven mistakes, and Harry was pretty sure sticking Remus in Gryffindor was one of them.

"Good afternoon," Remus smiled hesitantly. "What do you need, Harry?" He had to admit, there was a genuine quality to Remus that made him seem trustworthy, like he was the stranger you'd tell him your life story to on a train ride to wherever. But it was his twenty years of experience with the Unspeakables that prompted Harry to have this conversation.

"What can you tell me about warding?" Harry asked.

Remus blinked again, shifted to face him. "Well, that is a broad subject. It depends on what you want to know."

"What is the strongest warding spell, what can it protect against, and what are the resources required to cast it?"

"If we're talking about a warding a building," said Remus. "The strongest warding spell is blood locking. A well-maintained blood lock creates an impenetrable fortress—"

Harry cut him off. "And the only places protected by it are the Ministry, Hogwarts, and Gringotts, because the blood warding enchantment has been lost. I want to know the strongest spells that can _currently_ be cast."

"Well…I know the best that money can buy is Capita warding. It will defend against scrying, entry, and most attacks. Aristocrats save up for a century to ward their ancestral homes, and it usually takes about six months to properly cast."

"Okay, so if I'm hearing you correctly and standard warding is an excruciatingly slow process, how can I…get started with the minimum viable product that achieves acceptable levels of protection within a week?"

Remus's intent gaze settled on him. "It seems this might require a longer conversation. Join me in my office?"

When Harry entered Remus's office, he saw twelve bookcases lining the shelves, each one full of expensive and beautiful books. _Seriously, how are you not in Ravenclaw?_

Harry knew that Remus used to be best friends with his father, the heroic Quidditch champion, but it was hard to believe. He seemed less like his father's childhood friend, and more like someone his father would have picked _on_.

Dutifully, Harry examined the spines. Gold and silver titles shimmered as he read: _Bottomless Cauldrons: How to Stretch Your Supplies. Making the Most of Persimmon Part 13._

Remus set down his papers on his desk. "I understand why you're concerned, Harry," said Remus, arranging the parchment in careful stacks. "The Factionist attacks haven't stopped, even if the Daily Prophet fails to report on them. And if they aren't using bombs, that doesn't mean the Factionists aren't attacking Wizards in other ways."

"Muggles too," said Harry quietly. "I'm surprised more students aren't concerned for their parents."

"Well," said Remus. "Wizards are a strange group. They complain all the time and worry about nothing. I think magic makes them feel invulnerable. And besides, most people feel like the situation doesn't concern them, as the Factionists haven't targeted many populated areas. I know it's different for you. The terrorists have been demanding your head on a spike for crimes you haven't even committed, and vilifying you like you're the son of You-Know-Who. It stands to reason you're going to lose sleep over this, and worry for your family's protection."

Harry stared at Remus, who still shuffled papers around as if he hadn't just casually brought up a forbidden topic.

"Sorry if I upset you," said Remus, his voice intent but kind. "I assumed you already knew. But if you didn't, then you deserved to know."

"Well, no one else seems to think so," said Harry, his voice remaining quiet. "I can't tell _anyone_. It makes me want to scream sometimes."

"Adults underestimate what children can handle," said Remus. "They forget that life doesn't start being difficult when you turn 18. In your shoes I'd be desperate for information, and I'd prefer you get that from a trusted adult than from the newspapers. So, let me know if you have any questions, and I'll tell you what I can."

Harry nodded, not really trusting himself to speak.

"Anyway," said Remus, floating a paper out of the bottom of his stack. "I hope this information helps alleviate some of your fears. Last summer, Headmistress McGonagall commissioned a strong level of warding on your parents' home. I know this, because she showed me a copy of the invoice when I asked how they were protecting you. You can look at it, if you like. She warded the Grangers' home as well."

Harry felt a weight lift off his shoulders, and he read the invoice, noting that the total cost was something close to the diameter of Jupiter in inches. "This might seem like a weird question," Harry said, handing back the paper. "But can we contact the warder so he can show me what he did? I'd like to inspect his work, for personal reasons."

Remus hesitated, scratching his chin. "Normally I would say yes, but the Ministry just banned Apparition and portkeys within the country. The only way he could get there would be to fly or travel by floo."

"I see," said Harry. "Well, my parents don't have a floo, so that's inconvenient."

"Yes, I think making travel inconvenient was the point," said Remus. "In any case, I can speak with his company and see if they'll arrange a meeting here for next week. You'll be able to check the wards for yourself over Easter break, if you think you can wait."

"Right, that should work. I appreciate it."

Remus nodded.

"Now, Harry. How about some good news?" He reached into his desk and pulled out a brown paper package, carefully wrapped. Harry immediately recognized it as the Questionable White Powder. "I believe I've figured out what this is. I wanted to tell you first, since it was your quest item."

"Weeeell, _technically_ it belongs to Hermione," said Harry, shuffling his feet. "She won it in a Hufflepuff quest. But as research partners, I don't think she would _mind_ if you…shared your preliminary findings with me?"

Remus Lupin studied Harry for a moment, then he chuckled.

"You did indeed inherit your mother's curiosity," he said, setting down the package. "But let's keep it under wraps until I contact Hermione. I promise, it's worth the wait."

Harry waited while Remus sent a message, adrenaline coursing through him at the thought of their meeting. It was surprising and somewhat disturbing how quickly his brain descended into 'dur dur' mode in Hermione's presence, and he was hoping he wouldn't embarrass himself in front of his new friend. But several minutes passed and Hermione still didn't arrive. Remus frowned, sending another message with his Patronus, who returned with the reply, _"Hermione is currently occupied. Sincerely, Marguerite Valentine."_

"Ahh," said Remus, blinking as his wolf Patronus vanished. "Well. I wonder what that means?"

"It's four o'clock now," said Harry dryly. "So she's probably getting ready for the ball."

"Oh," said Remus. "I see. The festivities start at six, I presume?"

"No, closer to eight." In response to Remus's raised eyebrows, Harry said, "My theory is that girls take an excessive amount of time to get ready as a power move to intimidate their dates. Either that, or they're casting witchcraft on themselves and need time to set up the appropriate sacrificial rituals."

Remus smiled. "Perhaps all those sacrifices will be appreciated once you see your date this evening."

Harry snorted. "Come on, my idea of fun is reading ancient books and inventing spells to warp space and time. What am I going to do at a dance?"

"Trust me, I can relate. Studying and experimenting was how I spent my time at Hogwarts. It was also how I avoided most major social events at school, though I _did_ have fun the one or two times I decided to go."

Before Harry could respond, Hermione opened the door to Remus's office. "I got away for a moment," she said, swiftly closing the door. Considering the distance, she really _must_ have run. "What's going on? You said you had an update on a quest item?"

The moment she entered, Harry's eyes took in every inch of her. Her eyes were glassy and lined with dark circles, her hair was a frizzy ball, and Harry could almost see the tension radiating off of her.

 _Man, those dark beauty rituals sure take a lot out of you._

Remus gazed at her, his voice touched with concern. "Yes, we're discussing the white powder. Are you well?"

She blinked, rubbing her eyes. "I'm…okay. Stayed up too late last night. Anyway, what does it do?"

 _Annnnd now I feel like a jerk. Is she really okay?_

Remus turned to the desk, and slowly unwrapped the package. She joined them, standing beside Harry, her movements gentle and light. Harry felt this strong desire to take her hand and squeeze it, but resisted.

Remus tapped a finger against the brick. "This powder is a treatment for lycanthropy, or the werewolf disease. It moderates the fluctuations of magic within the person's body, preventing them from turning into a werewolf."

"A treatment for lycanthropy?" said Harry. "I thought the only treatment was the Wolfsbane potion."

"Up until recently, it was. Once this new treatment hits the market, it will be cheaper and much more effective than the alternative." Remus turned to them, his eyes alight with excitement. "When did you get this prize, Hermione?"

She thought back. "October…5th, I believe. Last year. Why do you ask?"

"Because," said Remus. "The powder is extracted from of the sap of a hybrid plant. It is very difficult to make, especially since there are only ten known viable specimens in existence. In time, that number will grow. However, only a small gram of the powder currently exists in the workshop of a man in Sweden."

Harry and Hermione were silent for a few moments, then Harry reached into his pouch and drew out the Identification Potion. "I'm going to use some of this on it."

Remus nodded, and Harry cut off a bit of the powder and poured the potion on top.

"Item: Esis Powder. An ingested treatment for werewolf symptoms. Item code: 902830.

Hermione frowned. "When we used it last January, it kept repeating, 'Unknown.'"

"Exactly," said Remus. "Because as of three days ago, it didn't exist."

* * *

They went back to Harry's lab, where he loaned Remus several more of his items for study. (He kept the star orb though. He suspected he'd need it.) Hermione remained with him, a silent companion, while Remus bid them goodbye.

"I will return these to you shortly," he said, a warm smile on his face. "Thank you for being accommodating, it will really help my research."

"No, _thank you_ ," said Harry. "For everything. We look forward to hearing the results."

Remus nodded and left. Harry turned to Hermione, "Can you believe it?" he said. "I know it's too early to get _too_ excited about a theory, but this could be evidence that the Hogwarts quests are accessing other dimensions. Unless of course the items were created through some form of, I don't know, object based time travel. If further experiments pan out, this is ground-breaking."

"Hmm," said Hermione. "Or maybe the items existed in someone's mind, and the Quest Gods just…knew, and created it."

"Another possibility," said Harry, smiling. "It'll require years of study to conclusively prove, but whatever the reason is, I _can't wait_ to discover it." He set his hands on the counter. "I've been thinking, if my plan to explore the stars is delayed, I could go work in the Hall of Mysteries. Remus seems like he'd make an acceptable co-worker, and you and I would technically have the same workplace.

"That's true," said Hermione, shrugging. "Maybe we could take our lunches together."

Harry paused, trying to read Hermione's expression. Her eyes were puffy and tinged with red. She stood with her arms folded, her face drawn and pale.

He frowned. Sleep deprived or not, it was obvious something else was going on. He ought to ask her about it, but he felt the words sticking in his mouth. Harry _never_ knew how to respond to Hermione when she was emotional, he _always_ said something dumb, and no amount of cognitive restructuring (even the Zen Harry rules) seemed _capable_ of making him respond like an emotionally sensitive human being.

 _Well, brain? What do you have to say for yourself?_

 _Dur dur._

"I have to go back before Marguerite notices I'm gone," said Hermione. "Talk to you soon, okay?"

"Alright—umm, wait Hermione," said Harry, reaching out instinctively. "If you want to talk, I'll be hiding from the horde of people invading our school. If you need anyone to save you from bad music and boring conversation, well…you know where I am."

She laughed, and Harry said, "I'm serious. Come if you need me."

Hermione's quiet, searching gaze made him realize how that must sound. He hadn't invited Dean, after all, who was her date and the source of said 'boring conversation.' Harry thought about including him in the invitation, then didn't.

He knew it was wrong, because what he wanted to do was completely ruin her evening by pouring out his heart to her. _I want you to_ _need me, Hermione. Demand things from me. Inconvenience me and force me to change my plans for you. You and you alone can do that, because you're my heart._

There were several seconds where he stood motionless, the thought of unburdening himself so tempting. But how could be do that to her? Instead, he just said, "If I don't see you again, I hope you have fun tonight."

She smiled softly, weariness behind her eyes. "I appreciate that. See you later, Harry."

* * *

Hermione sat on her bed, half-heartedly doing her hair. The mirrors in the room were already clogged with other young Beauxbatons girls who were preparing for the dance. And, since she didn't even have a date anymore, Hermione didn't think she ought to take first dibs.

"Ahh! Nathalie, be careful with that! You almost singed my eyebrows!"

Hermione wouldn't have agreed to go at all, except for she'd spent _so much money_ on this nice dress, and plus the single Beauxbatons students had made a pact to go together. Female solidarity, all that. She didn't want to let that stupid boy…or rather, that somewhat thoughtless boy…keep her from enjoying herself.

"Marguerite, do you have a spare wrinkle-free charm? My dress needs it."

Someone almost stepped on her foot, and Hermione tucked her feet closer to the bed. The girl sauntered off, hands fluttering as if the world would end, and Hermione silently finished her hair.

Once everyone was ready, Marguerite lead the first group of girls down to the waiting area in the Beauxbatons common room. "The most important thing, girls," she said, with regal solemnity. "Is that everyone has fun, but remember to act like ladies. The art of seduction does not require you to throw yourselves at the first boy who's interested."

"Yes, Ms. Marguerite," they replied.

 _No danger of that here,_ thought Hermione, before reminding herself she was supposed to have fun.

They made their way to the Great Hall, where they would be holding overflow for the ball. The main event would take place outside in a transfigured garden, with white string lights and band music playing. Hermione had seen the preparations yesterday—it was about as close to a garden party as you could get, without actually being in a garden.

Hermione glanced around, searching for a non-coupled girl she could go talk to, when she saw Padma standing with Dean by the snack table. Padma's dress was maroon with silver highlights, to match Dean's white shirt with his red dress robes.

Hermione looked down at her pink dress, which was supposed to match his…

And she turned and walked out of the room.

* * *

Harry spent about fifteen minutes in the Ravenclaw dorms that evening before he just couldn't stay anymore. Everyone was stressed, and for some reason over applying the exact same scent of cologne charms, and there was no reading to be done here.

So, he decided to go downstairs and take a walk.

He descended from the Ravenclaw tower and came to the landing outside the Great Hall, staring down at the milling people inside, waiting for the ball to start. Due to the influx of members, they almost couldn't fit inside. The boat from Durmstrang and the carriage from Beauxbatons had arrived an hour ago with the junior members of each school.

It would be packed in there, but his brain still envisioned Hermione alone, waiting for Dean to find her. She'd smile as he approached, embrace him, listen to him tell her how beautiful she is, because even exhausted and pale she'd still light up that room…

Neville appeared beside him, fussing with his dress robes. "Hi, Harry," he said. "Did you decide to go after all?"

Harry just stared at Neville, raising his eyebrows.

"Right," said Neville, wiping a hand over his forehead. "Truth is, I dunno if I'm going either but…"

A Beauxbatons girl rushed past them, then stopped, whirling to face them, "Excuse me, boys," she said. "Have either of you seen Roger? I can't find him anywhere, and we're supposed to process in with the champions soon."

"Err, not sure," said Neville. "I think I saw him in the upstairs hallway? Dunno what he was up to, though."

Marguerite sighed. "Oh, I swear, that boy is such a mess. If he doesn't get down here in five minutes, on the dot, I'll abandon him for someone else. I've at _least_ five better candidates. Anyway, my girls need me, so I'll be downstairs. Ta ta."

She raced back down, Neville and Harry staring after her. "Why does she even bother with him?" asked Neville.

"One of life's mysteries," replied Harry, though he was 95% sure it was blackmail.

Neville scratched his head. "Umm, anyway, like I was saying, I think I might go to the ball. It's last minute, but it's time I stopped acting like an idiot. I got so caught in chasing after a dream, I didn't realize the wonderful thing I had right in front of me."

"Good for you," Harry said. "Who are you going with?"

"A really special girl," he said softly. "If she'll still have me."

With that, Neville left, and Harry was alone again. He returned to watching the Great Hall, like the Grade A stalker he was. It's not like Hermione even wanted to _see_ Harry, she didn't _need_ him right now, so…why couldn't he seem to move from this spot?

He sat down on the stairs, racking his brain for an answer. He knew there was some part of him that held out hope for a romantic future with Hermione. Maybe if he saw Dean and Hermione together—dancing, laughing, falling in love—he could finally come to terms with the fact that she cared for Dean, not him. He could move on.

 _Is that even possible?_ asked his Hufflepuff side. _What if we never get over her?_

Harry knew that thought wasn't rational, and that eventually time would distance him from these feelings. In theory, anyway. At the same time, he couldn't imagine a version of himself, past or future, that wasn't in love with Hermione Jean Granger.

 _We have to try to move on,_ said his Ravenclaw side. _It's what's best for everyone._

 _Is it what's best?_ said Hufflepuff. _Or am I just being a coward? Why can't I fight for her too?_

Suddenly, Hermione appeared, storming out of the Great Hall, alone. She furiously wiped her eyes, as if she was trying to hide her tears.

Harry stood up, his eyes tracking her until she disappeared up a flight of stairs. Without a second thought, he raced after her.

* * *

Hermione ran up the stairs of Hogwarts, her tears blinding her, searching desperately for somewhere to go.

She couldn't go to her room—too many other girls were still there, getting ready. They would see her crying, and she didn't want everyone gossiping about her the next morning.

So she ran for the first place she could think of that would be completely deserted, a place that felt as comforting as a warm hug.

The library.

Hermione stepped into the library. As she suspected, it was empty. Even the librarian was absent, which had never happened before in known history. It was half lit and somewhat chilly, so Hermione cast the _Thermos_ charm.

Then she stoked a fire in the fireplace, sat down on the couch before it, and stared into the flames.

Her hands itched for a book, but she did not have her extendable pouch with her, just a simple bag for carrying lipstick and a few other necessities. Of course, she could always search for a book in the library. Mad Eye had even suggested several she should read, to build her understanding of certain spells to make them easier to cast.

But she couldn't make herself move.

The flames crackled the log underneath, dancing along the edges of the wood. She stared at it, letting her thoughts wander, the sadness calming as she zoned out.

She heard a noise behind her, and she whipped around—she didn't even have a wand to defend herself. Harry held up his hands.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I followed you from the Great Hall. I can leave, if you want to be alone."

Hermione unclenched her fists, adrenaline settling down. "No…it's okay. You can sit."

Harry sat beside her, on the opposite side of the couch. He didn't speak for a long moment, and the silence dragged. Finally, he said, "What happened, Hermione? Why aren't you at the dance?"

Hermione shook her head. "I'm not going."

"What? Why not?"

Hermione sighed. She might as well admit it. "Dean chose to go with Padma. I was going to go to the ball anyway. You know, female empowerment, I don't need a man." She'd meant to say that jokingly, but her voice broke. "But it…well…it was just too painful to see him with her, and…"

She sighed. Harry turned towards her on the couch, but he said nothing.

"I'm not even sure if I'm upset that he dumped me—I mean, that wasn't _fun_ , and I ate enough ice cream that I was scared I wouldn't fit my dress, but…" She shrugged, her voice coming out soft. "I've always wanted to go to a dance. It's an important life experience, you know?"

"I wouldn't put too much stock in important life experiences," said Harry. "I can confirm that fulfilling them isn't always what it's cracked up to be."

"Yes, well…" said Hermione. "Even so. I spend _so much_ of my time studying, working, and basically acting like an adult. I feel like I'm missing out on all the fun things I'm supposed to do when I'm young. I thought I'd finally get to experience that tonight, but..." Her shoulders sagged. "I know I'm not normal. My future is some big, scary important thing that will probably be really long and maybe very sad. But just for tonight, I wanted to feel like a normal girl."

She lapsed into silence, unsure if she could continue without crying.

"I…understand how you feel," said Harry. He hesitated a moment, then stood up. "But it's not wrong for you to want to be happy. And I…well…would you like to go to the ball with me?"

Hermione blinked at him. "But you hate dancing."

"I don't mind, if it's with you." His face was flushed, speaking too fast. "I know I'm not a very skilled dancer, so I understand if that's a contributing factor in your refusal. But I will try my best."

"Everyone will probably think we're a couple." She didn't know why she was trying to talk him out of it. Maybe because it was hard to believe this was happening. "You know how the rumour mill tends to spread stories about us."

"Right. Of course. Then…" Harry drew his wand, and raising it towards the ceiling, cast a few spells.

Hermione watched as their old, musty library was transformed into a brightly lit ball room, with its own dance floor. Soft piano music played in the background. Above their heads the rows of books extended into a dark sky enchanted with falling snow.

"Hermione," he said, reaching out his hand. "Dance with me."

* * *

Hermione was speechless for several moments. Her brain made a few connections, and then squealed, _It's just like Beauty and the Beast!_

As she stared in rapture, Harry stood before her, still as a statue.

"Where did you learn to do this?" she asked breathlessly.

"Arnold Melcamp's _Decorative Spells_ ," he said softly. "Do you like it?"

She nodded absently, still turning to examine the room. The detail was incredible! Even the well-worn books looked pristine and elegant, as if they belonged in a stately manor. Still, she couldn't understand why Harry would ever attempt to learn a complex decoration spell like this, as it was mostly used for hosting parties. Maybe his obsessive reading had led him to pick up information by osmosis.

"Oh, before I forget." Harry took his wand, transfigured a few small carnations, and gently placed it on her wrist. "It is a flower festival after, all." He glanced skyward. "Sorry about the snowfall."

"No, it's lovely. I like it." Indulging in a little whimsy, Hermione skipped over to Harry, curtsied, and took his hand, which was very sweaty. "Thank you for this dance, Mr. Potter."

He returned the bow. "I'm honoured, Miss Granger."

Harry led her to an open part of the library. He put his hand around her waist, and she placed her hand on his shoulder.

The song was a gentle waltz, played on a violin. They slid into a rhythm, moving in time to the beat.

It quickly became clear Harry hadn't picked up much beyond the simple box step McGonagall taught them, but Hermione still liked the dance. When the song ended, she asked, "Do you mind if I lead this one?"

"Uhh…sure. If that's what you want."

She smiled. "Okay, follow me, ready? One, two, three…"

Teaching Harry dance steps was so much more fun than she expected. He was slow at first, but in spite of her gentle teasing, he quickly picked up the moves she showed him. They laughed at each other's mistakes, and even spun each other a few times.

After the songs started to repeat, Hermione asked, "Can you change the music?"

He nodded, flushed from exertion. "What would you like?"

"Hmm…" She considered Harry's dancing abilities. "Let's try something slower."

He flicked his wand, and the song shifted into a soft, romantic piano. Harry looked at her, a bit helpless as to what to do next.

"Let's slow dance," she suggested. "I…umm…think that's part of the Important Life Experience."

"Oh, right! Of course," replied Harry.

She encircled her arms around his neck, and his hands met her waist. Slowly, they swayed to the beat. Though the dance steps were easy, it was suddenly impossible to focus. Everything seemed so much more intimate than before. Hermione became acutely aware of the soft music, Harry's hands against her waist, and the fact that there was nothing to do but gaze into his eyes.

It was a little uncomfortable, which could explain why Harry couldn't stop talking.

"Your dress is pink," he observed.

She looked down.

"It's a nice colour, but I like the blue dress better."

Hermione blinked, confused. "The blue dress?"

"The one you wore to Slughorn's event. It matches your colouring, and it's very pretty on you. Not that the one you're wearing isn't." He flushed, and would not meet her gaze. "Though I suppose purple would split the difference."

"Or I could have worn a yellow dress," she said, gazing at him fondly.

"Why yellow? Uggh, nevermind." Harry turned back to her, his eyes aflame with intense embarrassment. "I'm sorry. I give you permission to place a silencing charm on me in case I say anything else that's even more stupid. I hope I'm not ruining the slow dance."

She smiled softly. "Not even a little bit."

Hermione leaned her head against his shoulder, turning their dance into more of a hug. He froze, his arms stiffening, and then he pressed her closer.

She closed her eyes, letting the comfort of his embrace wash over her. It was strange, but it always felt like nothing could bother her in his arms. Her thoughts of Dean and loneliness, her fears of being strange and abnormal, were scattered to the winds. A part of her wondered if this meant she still had a crush on Harry, but the rest of her was just happy he was there for her.

Against her head, Hermione could feel his heartbeat pounding hard in his chest.

"Are you nervous?" she asked.

"A little," he said, his voice reverberating against her ear. "I may step on your feet."

She smiled, wrapping her arms a little tighter. "Better not, or my dress will turn red."

They barely danced now, each step a slow swaying back and forth. His hand moved to stroke her back gently, resting his head beside hers. She sighed, basking in contentment. It was exactly what she would have wanted a first date to be like…not that this was one.

But he was her friend, and he cared for her, and that was enough.

* * *

Hermione Granger was in his arms, and he couldn't think straight.

He didn't know where his hands were supposed to go. Should he hold her waist? Her wrist? He'd been so focused on being an adequate dance partner, that he hadn't prepared for full body contact.

At this point, Anything Could Happen. For example, he could step on her feet, if he got clumsy enough. So far, he'd avoided that fiasco. Now he was blindsided by how wonderful she felt and how much he wanted to kiss the top of her head.

Harry didn't like to walk into situations without a plan, especially not if it was a new, unusual one. But every time he tried to form some semblance of an idea, some way this dance was supposed to go, it was completely shattered by emotional assault. It was like trying to do calculus with half his brain missing, and which meant he needed to figure out how _other_ people did this sort of thing.

His hand moved a little up her back, and she sighed, so he did it again. Over and over, gently rubbing her back.

It transported him into a kind of trance, where he couldn't think about anything—just focused on the feel of her body against his. If he could imagine a heaven of perfect contentment, this would be it. Their closeness felt so natural, that if she tilted her head up, smiled at him, he would lean down and…thaaaat was why people had a plan, so they were discouraged from doing reckless things.

The song ended, and he reluctantly let her go, his brain still too fuzzy for coherent thought. It felt a bit like being drunk.

Hermione led him to the couch, and they took seats in front of the fire. They sat for a few moments in silence, and then Hermione said, "I don't get it. We've been so dumb."

"Hmm?"

"We're both best friends, and we like spending time together, right?"

He nodded.

"So why does it seem like this entire year we've been finding reasons to avoid each other? I started secluding myself because of work obligations, and then later it was you avoiding me because of your science experiments. We spent all this time missing each other—when we're literally in the same building—instead of trying to find ways to make it work."

He stared at her, feeling like a complete idiot for not having anything to say. He was going to _have_ to figure out how to fix this impairment. "You're right, Hermione." He finally managed. "I can't even remember what I was doing that was so important."

"Anyway," said Hermione. "I just think we should spend more time together, that's all. Starting now."

She reached over and took his hand, giving him a mischievous grin. His heart did backflips, and he couldn't help grinning back. "Yes, Hermione?" he asked. "You look like you have an idea."

"Well, I was just thinking it might be fun to spy on the drunk couples."

"Indeed," said Harry. "Let's go observe teenagers in their natural environment."

"And maybe," she said. "If you're up for it…"

She let the sentence hang there, then shook her head. "Nevermind. Shall we go?"

 _Oh, that is just going to taunt me, isn't it?_

He released the spell on the room, and it dimmed back to an ordinary library. Hermione doused the fire, and they set off. As they made their way downstairs, they heard music playing, and Hermione said, "Look, we can see the ball from here. There's _so many_ people."

She leaned against the railing, her curious gaze watching the people as they left the Great Hall. A good number of them were giggling, arms slung over a partner as they tried to sneak off to a secluded alcove.

She chuckled softly, then whispered, "You know, Filch swore up and down that no kids would be getting up to 'funny business.' How many galleons you want to bet he's waiting to catch them?"

Hermione started giggling into Harry's shoulder when she heard shrieks, and the couple ran down the hall, eyes wide in fear.

"This next one," said Harry, reaching around her shoulder to point them out. "Watch them. Ten knuts that's the couple Filch goes after."

"What about the couple with the flower headdress?"

"Nah, too risky. They obviously came to be gawked at, so who knows how they'll react when Filch starts yelling?"

They bet on a few more couples coming out of the room, and Harry considered turning them invisible for privacy, but decided against it. Hermione gripped his hand, leaning close whenever Filch walked near them. Part of the fun was knowing they could be caught too.

After a while, they weren't really betting, just leaning against each other and listening to music.

It was a bit of an awkward position, but he was too happy to care. His brain started strategizing, wondering the steps he ought to take after this point. Unfortunately, his traditional fare of books didn't have much to say on that.

He yawned, then instantly regretted it when Hermione said, "Oh, you're tired. Do you want to go to sleep?"

Harry checked his watch. It was only 10:30 pm, which was shamefully early to turn in. "Not yet. We could…umm…I'm happy to stay here. But if you want, we can go to the Great Hall and get some snacks."

"No, that's okay. I'm not hungry." There was a pause, and then she glanced at him. "Why, did you want to go, Harry?"

"Well, no, but it's not about me," he sputtered. "I just want you to have a good time. This is your Important Life Experience, and I didn't want you to miss anything, or have any regrets."

She smiled, gentle and mysterious. "You don't have to worry about that. I got everything I wanted."

"Everything?" His voice was soft.

"Yes. Let's see, Number 1, I got to have a dance in the library, which is my favourite place in the whole world." She counted on her fingers. "Number 2, I got to teach you how to dance the waltz. Which was so much fun, even though you're terrible." He pretended offense, just to see her smile. "Number 3, I got to spend time with my best friend. So, I suppose as far as first dances go, I ticked off just about everything I wanted to do."

She smiled again, and it completely melted something in his brain. He found himself saying, "What else is expected after a dance?"

"What?"

"Getting food is customary," he said. "But besides that, is there anything else? Should I hug you or…perhaps…a kiss?"

His voice didn't come out very strong, but he was too stunned to repeat himself.

Hermione blinked, and didn't say anything for a long moment.

"Well…umm…I think there's usually a kiss in front of the girl's doorway."

There was a short pause.

"Okay." He didn't know how he got the words out. "Then…shall we go?"

The whole long walk, he couldn't even look at Hermione. His heart was hammering, and he was sweating buckets, and what was he even _thinking_ suggesting that. This was supposed to be a nice, pleasant dance between two friends-who-would-eventually-start-dating, once he gradually stole her heart. There wasn't supposed to be _kissing_ yet.

Not that he planned on taking it back. He had to admit, he'd been going back and forth with himself about this all evening, hoping for it while not quite believing it was possible. The fact of the matter was, if she wanted to kiss him, he really didn't think there was an atom in his body that could say no.

They arrived at the doorway, and Hermione turned to him. "Umm…Harry…"

"Yes?"

"You don't have to kiss me."

"Oh…"

"I mean…I would be okay with a hug or…even just a wave goodbye. You don't have to force yourself."

 _Force myself?_

"Wait. You don't still think I hate kissing?"

"Well…" she shrugged. "I don't know? I just don't want you to be uncomfortable."

The blood thundered through his veins, and some force compelled him to step towards her, put his arms around her. She gasped a little, her eyes wide in shock, but she didn't push him away. He leaned in and brushed his lips against her cheek.

It was a soft kiss, and he lingered there before pulling away. He hadn't wanted to overwhelm her, but as soon as it was over, he wished he'd had the courage to give her the kiss he'd really wanted.

"How was that?" he asked, stepping back.

She blinked again, and then laughed lightly, as if punch drunk. "It was…err…acceptable."

"Acceptable," he murmured, while waiting for the ceiling to crash down on him.

"Oh, no I…liked it, Harry." Hermione smiled, gentle and encouraging. "Today was wonderful, so thank you." She fidgeted, her gaze on her feet. "I know you don't like dancing, so it may not have been fun for you—"

"Hermione." Her eyes rose to meet his. "I had fun. And I should have gone dancing with you a long time ago."

Standing in her doorway, framed by the pale light of the moon, Hermione looked so heartrendingly lovely. Her pink dress glistened, and her skin practically glowed. Time froze, and he lost himself staring at her. Feelings burned inside him, so intense and real he wanted to shout from the rooftops.

His thoughts raced. It was scary, it was wonderful, how much hold she had over him. He didn't want to go back to his dorm, didn't want to leave her for an instant, and he didn't care if Finch yelled at him, either.

 _If we both liked the kiss, can I do it again? And properly, this time._

He stepped forward, the floor creaking under his weight.

It was as if a spell had been broken. She blinked, stirred, and said softly, "It's late. I should go in."

"Alright. Goodnight, Hermione, and sweet dreams."

She opened the door, giving him one last smile before she left him.

* * *

 _Meanwhile, in the dance hall…_

With thirty seconds left to spare, Roger stumbled into the Great Hall, hastily tucking in his shirt.

Beneath her Perfect Smile, Marguerite was _seething_.

"Where were you, you dolt?" she whispered, linking arms with him, joining the champions who'd already lined up.

"Sorry!" he cried, and she hushed him. "Sorry," he repeated, softly. "I just got…held up by someone."

"Who?" she asked, then shook her head. "Nevermind." Taking a breath to restore her Calm Demeanour, she said, "Roger. We discussed this. A lady can make a man wait, as it is her prerogative, but a man must be on time. _Especially_ for something like this!"

"I know, Marguerite, I—"

She just _knew_ he was about to ramble, try to make things right by grovelling. She sighed. He still had so much left to learn, and not much time left to teach him.

"Roger, don't worry about it. Let's go in and have a good time, yes?"

He lit up with expectation, and she remembered why she'd chosen him. The boy might be clueless, but he had a heart of gold, and an eager desire to improve himself. With just a little confidence and social skills training, he would make a fantastic partner for any girl.

She smiled. It was hard for a Veela to ignore such low hanging fruit.

* * *

It was warm outside tonight. Daphne stood under the pavilion, flushed with excitement, waiting for Neville to come back with drinks.

Giddy with delight, her mind replayed the events of that night. Neville, down on one knee, asking her to the dance. The flurry of excitement in getting ready. Going together to the ball, watching the procession, and then Neville leading her to the dance floor.

They'd danced twice, and each time was amazing. He was a wonderful dancer, always considerate and willing to show her new steps, but not too serious that he wouldn't laugh at their mistakes. Was there anything he _wasn't_ good at?

He was even kind enough to go get the drinks, so she could stay there and rest. Nervously, Daphne checked her hair, just to make sure it hadn't strayed from her bun. She marvelled at the lights and the potted tulips, deciding this was the most beautiful Spring Fling in the history of ever.

After a few minutes of waiting, she bit her lip. It sure was taking him a while.

She rose on her toes, trying to see over the crowd for Neville. It was hard to see that far, though she did spy a few of her friends. On the dance floor, Ginny and Michael were doing the Merengue. Lavender seemed to be having a good time, teasing Ron by the band stage. Daphne hadn't seen Susan or Romilda yet, though.

Merlin's ghost…there were so many _people_.

All the older students from Hogwarts were here, as well as _everyone_ from Durmstrang and Beaxbatons. She knew it was fun to have a dance, but why come so far for just one night? Logistically, someone hadn't thought this through. The visitors clogged up the dance floor, and everything had a line, including the snack table, which was probably why Neville was so late.

Maybe she and Neville should go inside to the Great Hall, since that might have emptied out. Then again…Neville did like flowers.

He appeared from within the crowd, two cups in hand. Handing her one, he drank his punch in one big gulp. Wiping his brow, he crunched the empty cup in his hand, his eyes scanning the crowd in confusion.

"What's wrong?" asked Daphne.

"Ahh…" Neville blinked, turning back to her. "Something weird happened when I was getting drinks."

"Really?" Daphne frowned. "What kind of weird?"

"Well…I don't know. All of a sudden, I felt tired and kinda sick."

"Oh…" She felt panicked, realizing this might just be an excuse to leave. She'd already scared him off. "Do you want to sit down? Or-or go inside? Here…umm…you can have my drink!"

She shoved it to him, and it spilled over his hands. After apologizing, she rubbed her forehead, wishing she could stop being awkward for _one day_.

He glanced at the drink in his hand, looked up and her, and then smiled. "Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere. I wouldn't miss my date with the most beautiful girl in Hogwarts."

She flushed, and cast about for a response, and her eyes found a potted plant. "Well…you can _plant_ a kiss on my lips any day!"

While Daphne wished she could dig herself a hole to sink into, Neville laughed. "I'm _lichen_ you already!"

* * *

Milling among the students of Durmstrang, Romilda smiled and chatted, flitting her way from one group to the next. All the while, she kept an eye on the time, and another assessing the room.

As instructed, Romilda had spent the first two hours of the ball dancing, mingling, and making herself seen. It was important to establish an alibi, after all.

But…that didn't mean she couldn't get in a little extra work along the way.

This job, she realized, was a lot tougher than she'd thought. People didn't just waltz over to her and let their minds be read, she had to coax them into it. But with so many people here, she was bound to bump into a few with some juicy secrets. She'd already hit some of her priority targets.

Now, two hours in, it was time to rendezvous with Mr. Malfoy.

Palms sweating, her eyes swept the room. Last time they'd met, Draco hadn't been shy in expressing his displeasure with her performance. She'd been determined not to fail him again, made a point of trying to collect only useful information. Still, she had no idea if it would be enough.

Romilda laughed at someone's joke that her brain barely registered. Where was he? She expected him not to be wearing a disguise, so…

She felt a hand touch the small of her back. "Hello, Ms. Vane."

Her heart fluttered in her chest, from fear or excitement she couldn't tell. "Hello, Mr. Black."

"Oh please, let us dispense with disguises." He spoke into her ear. "You know who I really am, don't you?"

She felt a shiver run through her. "Yes."

"Then," he said, in a voice smooth as silk. "Call me your Albino Prince."

Her mouth went completely dry. He was _flirting_ with her, using her memories as ammunition. She didn't know how to interpret that, but it certainly changed everything.

He pressed his hand against her back, leading her. "Let's go have a little chat."

* * *

Settling into the empty room (not the Room of Requirement—that place was too highly trafficked), Draco set up a few security charms and then took his seat.

Romilda sat before him with her hair carelessly tamed, her black dress hugging her curves over her sharp heels. It was the sort of scene you saw in a James Bond movie, and she looked every inch the femme fatale.

"So, Romilda," he said, in a voice commanding respect. "Show me what you have gathered. I hope it's improved from last time."

She fidgeted, and Draco felt like biting back his words. The Priestess had warned him to keep a firm hand on his charges. Still, he didn't feel like it was necessary to scare her.

"I…well…I hope it's good…I did some information gathering today too…"

"I'm sure you did well," said Draco, raising a gentle hand. "If I may?"

He touched her forehead, their eyes locked, and the transfer began.

This time, the memories came swiftly to his mind, in less of a jumble than the last. He could already catch glimpses of a few of them.

"Is it sufficient?" she asked, in a nervous whisper.

If Draco were being honest, it wasn't the _best_ information. Neville, Roger, some Weasley girl. They each had secrets about Potter and Granger. It would be useful, he supposed, if he hadn't already gotten most of the same information from Slughorn.

"It's been difficult," she rambled, her fingers digging into the chair cushion. "The students on my list are normally surrounded by people. I didn't target the professors, like you asked, and I let no one remember that I questioned them."

"Yes…well…even so," said Draco. "What of Luna and Lavender? Why have you nothing from the Seers?"

Romilda's eyes darkened. "They're avoiding me. I think they must know what I'm after, somehow. McGonagall thinks I'm just playing pranks, but she still Obliviated Lavender."

Draco frowned. If Romilda's information gathering proved useless, they would have to Obliviate her also. He knew it as well as she did.

"But…" She looked at him expectantly. "I _know_ I can get more information, if you give me more power." Her gaze captured his, and she rose. "Oh, I could do _so much_ for you. Anything you want."

Draco stared at her as she moved towards him, feeling conflicted.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

She smiled with such a seductive tease that his mouth went dry.

 _Is this my fault?_

He knew that the power of the ring could cause instability, in higher does. She'd only been given a small dose, though. His next thought:

 _Should I stop this?_

Romilda's dress showed off her form in all the right places…and her _thoughts_ hinted that she wanted him. It might not be wrong, or even unusual, to take advantage of the situation.

In fact, many a Dark Lord had taken a lover this way—ensnared her with potions, used her, and was done with her the next day. But Draco had always wanted something like what his father and mother had. They'd loved each other, seen each other as equals. Both mourned each other's loss.

He certainly didn't want his _first_ romance, with a girl he actually _liked_ , to be based on a lie.

She sat in his lap, laced her arms around his neck. A jolt of fear and longing ran through him.

"Think about it," she said softly. "Every great man needs a good woman by their side, don't they?"

Then, she kissed him.

Time stopped.

He resisted at first, but it was impossible. She was fire, and freedom, and every good thing. He yielded to her passion, allowing her to deepen the kiss, matching her desire with his own. When they broke away, both were gasping for air.

 _What if this is real?_

"Please," she sighed. "Let me do this for you, Draco. Give me enough power to make me useful. It's all I want."

Draco swallowed, nodded, and drew his wand. "Just…a little more power. And there are certain conditions that you _must_ follow."

Nearly trembling, she wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him all over. "Oh, thank you, Draco! I won't let you down, I promise."

* * *

Romilda rushed in from the cold, the power surging inside her. She could see _everything_! Her eyes scanned the room full of students, waiting to be divulged of their secrets.

Her world converged into a point of crystal clarity, and it almost _hurt_ how fast the information was rolling in. Her heart beat, her soul sang, and she rushed off to find her destiny.

She had never before been so unsure what would happen next.

" _Somnium_ ," said a voice behind her.


End file.
